I am just amazed at the play of life before my eyes and in my heart.
The lives that have been not just lost but obliterated. The untold mini-dramas going on inside each of those hearts and homes - all washed out to sea with nothing save a moment's notice,
Nothing left to remember those lives by. No records. No word-vomit journals. No lovely artwork. No labours of love left to remember the dead. No gardens. No jewelry. No baby toy. No shamisen.
It's probably not exactly a slow death, nor a quick one. To be shaken out of your self so violently and then upon that realisation only the dawning of an additional impending doom to finally consider your options for survival against the greatest opponent there is - Forces of Nature. At that point I might consider surrender, but it might be that a survival instinct kicks in and I start running for higher ground. Or I might just accept my fate and invite death into my front door screaming its welcome.
I imagine all those scenarios happened and even more that I can't imagine. Reactions could very well have been determined by how one woke from their dreams of the night before. But I'd like to think that when death comes to me I will not surrender in defeat nor run from it afraid, but humbly welcome it in. Even if it takes everything away along with me; leaving not a trace.