The Hat

Death is a hat I wear each day

When the brightness of the sun threatens to cook my brain,

I am relieved by the knowledge that this life

will have it's end

When the rain runs down into my eyes and blurs my vision

I put on my hat and can see a bit better, further

I take it off when crossing the threshold of the church

Those inside seek escape from death, but I keep my hat in my hand,

and I notice that the miter stays in place

While taking a rest at the stream side, under the shade of the tree

I take it from my head and cool my thoughts, sinking deeply into

the bliss of this life, body, heartbeat, tired muscle, gratitude

Eventually I will resume my journey, and restore it to my head

holding it in place when the freshening breeze grabs at it,

the brim keeps me from looking to high up, away from the path I walk,

without me adjusting my whole attitude upward

It is mine, and fits me

I have come to know it as

it has come to know the shape of my head

It is not good or bad, it is just a useful thing,

a necessary thing to carry with me

each day

each night I can leave it on it's hook

and know that in the morning, if morning should come

I can find it easily

and go out into the day

and continue on my Path