Purposes Incomprehensible and Wonderful As These Purposes

Imperfect world, purposeless person. I retired to pursue perfection learn jazz tunes, woody and herbaceous plants, read every inch of English literature, Scientific American and Foreign Affairs, have an affair with an American. Oh, and by the way, before you ask, I'm from Mars. Orbiting your planet, admiring the girls. Paraphrasing prayers by George Herbert to share with Jesus believers on talk radio shows where we try to bring your lives into expressible states before it’s too late and climate change inundates you. Reversed thunder, savior-side-piercing spear, one day you’re feeling fine, the next not. We’re pretty matter of fact, clear about the fact of death. Once you’re gone most of us forget your face and previous accomplishments. The place you lived is repopulated with the next generation (of aliens) and that ought to be a comfort, a sort of restful certainty all is well, nothing special need be done. Bluebirds are back, crows are mating on the sky and chasing hawks away from their nests. Juncos and sparrows glean together. I hear pileated woodpeckers jackhammering and barred owls hooting soothingly. Herons smoothing feathers and spearing fish. Everything is as one would wish. Numberless are the world's wonders but none more wonderful than aliens.