they each make sacred

at the end of life,

the comparison of a tree stump to a human,

as tree rings to verbal account,

where the impact of experience is registered.

listening to both, 

as to what was relevant in its passing,

where life took them

and by what means was reception gained.

the timber and the raw, 

for both as expressed.

what of their perceptions

and what of their internal means,

their collaboratives,

and their standalones. 

what is it,

when comparatives like these 

yields an eventual oneness?

when diversity is 

the expression of that oneness,

yet unrealized.

when details are but a clapper, 

resounding in the eventual same surmise,

and yet story by story, frame by frame,

each one's steps taken 

that appear as different,

were eventually drawn 

to the same absolute vein.

for one, who reads both,

to eventually arrive

at the same explicit endings, 

could be a surprise.

both were in reception of existence

and its belittlings, and its blessings,

well within the variance of its life, 

in its aliveness yet disguise.

who of us reads for these things,

to wisdom our authorship from within?

age provides the pages for us to review.

but who of us has the eyes

to see through, 

what time and circumstance present,

as momentarily 

not in relationship or response?

but deep within each, 

in their own way,

they have come to honor,

what livingness has ably provided.

and in the end,

they each make sacred, 

the scrolls, 

their tree rings or verbal accounts,

that they leave for us 

to ponder . . .