Death has been heavy on the mind today.

Not the caricaturist's death of the horror film, or even the dramatist's death of the theatre. More so, it has been thoughts of the peaceful, "natural order of things" death that have consumed me this afternoon.

I'm reminded of this passage from Virginia Woolf's Mrs. Dalloway.

"So on a summer's day waves collect, overbalance, and fall; collect and fall; and the whole world seems to be saying 'that is all' more and more ponderously, until even the heart in the body which lies in the sun on the beach says too, That is all. Fear no more, says the heart. Fear no more, says the heart, committing its burden to some sea, which sighs collectively for all sorrows, and renews, begins, collects, lets fall. And the body alone listens to the passing bee; the wave breaking; the dog barking, far away barking and barking."