A thin low-lying mist is sneaking

between the nearly bare trees. 

The brightly colored leaves

decorating the ground

are still slick from the morning dew,

causing a few to stick my worn hiking boots. 

A large bird screeches overhead,

calling to its unseen brethren.

I close my eyes and breathe deeply,

pulling in the chilled air,
feeling the slight breeze on my stubbled face.

Eyes still closed, I turn my focus to my other senses; 

that unmistakable earthy smell

of soil and foliage,

and somewhere nearby

I can hear a stream gushing. 

A few crickets have begun their morning song. 

The breeze causes the remaining leaves to

rustle gently against the rough bark of the trees.

A pleasantly overwhelming nostalgia rushes in
and fills my body with instant serenity.

I open my eyes. 

Even the grayness of the day cannot detract

from the profound beauty of these woods.

As I set my backpack down,

I smile to myself. 

I kneel unevenly on the damp ground

and open the dingy pack,

removing the gun carefully. 

A small frog is startled by my movement

and hops deeper into the weeds.

I grin broadly as I hear

all of the wonderful orchestra of nature

surrounding me. 

I load the single bullet

and flip the safety off.

Oh, how jealous they will be! 

When they discover I took my last breath,

they will know it was freedom!

I refuse to die

smelling disinfectants and floor wax. 

I don’t want my last glimpse of light

to be a flickering fluorescent. 

I refuse to die
in that ‘retirement village';
all alone, surrounded by strangers.

I will choose my time, my place.

And it is so beautiful it hurts.