There are two things we do in life, one of which is dying. And when I do, I hope I go to Texas.
Her bosom is large and strong enough to cradle me for eternity. Her dirt, sweet and soothing, will embalm my senses, capturing her persona forever. Her vital signs will pulse through time, giving flow to her energy like the blood circulating in my veins.
Breathing deeply her Summer breezes, they will become my lullaby. As a mother swaddles her child, the Fall colors of Texas will wrap around me like a patchwork quilt, before I pass to the Rock of Ages. Eventually I’ll be lying in state with the death of Winter, as if to preserve life like the seed dieing unto itself, only to rise again in the Spring. New life will call for growth once more, intoxicating me with the perfume of wildflowers. Fresh as the morning, she will offer a drink from dawn’s dew to quench my thirst. As I drink the potion, she will suspend me into perpetual bliss.
My spirit quickens, I hear the call. Neither Heaven nor Hell has any hold over me. Texas belongs to both. She’s where I began, and so will forever be. Amen.
