When you've taken the life of as many creatures as I have the sound is more than familiar. Some call it the death rattle. Your quarry, or victim as it might be, lays there writhing in a puddle of indescribable agony, a pitiful, wrinkled mess of carnage waiting for the coup de grace. I often oblige the defeated one with a sharp poke in the eye, even digging out, with a certain gusto, the last vestiges of life...licking the bowl clean as it were. Yes, there usually is some wheezing, often accompanied by a distinctive, plaintive call akin to that of a mourning dove on a lonely road somewhere at 5 am. I am quite fond of this awkward, somewhat morbid last waltz...it invigorates only in that it bespeaks new life. Life begets life. Don't forget it! Nothing ever comes of nothing and there ain't no such thing as a free lunch.So was the recent demise of my last tube of rose madder paint. She died while making this nice desert sunset...gave her life in order to bring to life a simple picture. It is truly the circle of life. Hakuna Matata!
