At dawn, silent sitting, chanting, bell sounding.
Then three of us carry this good dog to hillside grave site where his brothers and sisters before him join with earth watching brook fall and turn and continue on.
Brown earth, stones, leaves, incense, candle, fuzzy toy, and lovely poems.
With tears, a smile, and quiet reverence we turn and return.
The Peace of Wild Things
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
— Wendell Berry