The other day, my friend Helena sent me a poem called A Summer Day, by Mary Oliver. The poem ends with these lines:
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
I’ve only had a few hours sleep, so I’m a little ragged and these words are bringing tears to my eyes, right now, as I think back on this year.
What else should I have done? Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?


