SEVENTH FLOOR

Next to a fir tree is a small gravestone: “Here Lies Birdy, Wilson’s Warbler & Friend.” I’ve buried my share of rabbits and birds and our family dog. Why do we do that, with a flower on top? We hope that space in the ground will lead like an elevator to another, even better place, where there won’t be the worries of this world. And when it’s your turn, you can see that little yellow warbler again, just listen for: “Seventh Floor: sunshine, running stream, warm breeze, Birdy.”