It was an early start today, a chance to get some plants divided, some mulch spread, and a bit of weeding done before the sunshine upped the temperature out of the ’60’s. But death intervened in the form of a young opossum lying in the grass just off the end of the driveway, the victim of a hawk or other raptor. Instead of laying mulch, I dug a hole, said a few prayers, and buried a tiny body.

I’m not particularly squeamish or naive about how nature works. Raptors need to eat, so they prey on small creatures, keeping their populations in check. Small things eat bugs and plants, then eventually become food themselves. There’s a balance to the circle of life that I respect and understand. But that doesn’t mean that the death of a single opossum isn’t a cause for grief, even as the flight of a hawk overhead is an amazing gift of life.

So it’s time to look at the life and death here in my own back yard. Keep me company, if you’ve a mind to…