The Complete Lee

     
          A young girl died this spring.
          It was seeemingly an untimely death, doubly sad, for she,
     like the earth, was still in her first season.  My tidy mind
     balked at the thought of the interupted cycle, the unfinished
     business of her life, the ends of experience not neatly tied.
          Yet her mother showed me photographs taken on a trip shortly
     before her death.  A terible disease has melted away the
     adolescent softness of her face and unveiled the beauty of the
     full blown bloom she was to become.  Blue eyes, startlingly
     large, laughing out of a tanned face.  Strong nose and chin,
     elegant cheek bones.  The unadorned beauty of the fashion model
     on a summer layout.
          And her courage.
          Oh, the steady going on with the business of life in the
     midst of pain and anxiety.  It took no notice of the fall signs,
     life slowing down like nature itself in those months.  There was
     humor too, leaping at you unexpectedly like the autumn squirrel
     from a bare branch.
          She had learned winter wisdom, the peace of the very old who
     come to accept today as a gift and regret not yesterday nor count
     on tomorow.  She warmed her hands in front of the fire of love
     from her family and radiated that warmth back onto the givers.
          She, in a short time, fashioned a life more full than many
     five times her age.  She gleaned everything important a man must
     know to make his living a finished product.  The seasons of her
     life proceeded, if too rapidly, in good order.  When she left the
     world, her cycle was complete, from taker to giver, helplessness
     to strength, babe to sage.