The sun is shining in the mountains and a number of shots ring out. Two of the enemy are wounded, a young American's life is snuffed out. He was here a moment ago and now he's gone. Only his body remains.
The word will reach the sunny meadows of home much later. Nothing can bring him back. Only the body which once carried his life. While living in the beginning of his future he died. Something dies within the family and among the relatives and his friends.
Death comes more slowly for those afflicted with longevity. Their future slipping away as many of their friends and relatives have disappeared. Death visited them earlier. The long-livers soon find themselves pretty much alone. They are not dead. All around them, the shell within which they lived has dissolved.
They have begun to notice that they too are slowing dying. Anyone of their ailments could be the cause of their oncoming death. They visit their doctors, none of them talk of death, perhaps a new prescription. Next.
Back in the valley of sunshine, death for the young brings shock. But the elderly die of having lived.
Longevity would appear to be an extension of the future, but these extended years are often re-runs of the past until the bell rings and there remains no future and no past. But what of the time shortly before the bell rings and on those final pages?
Life is within these bodies, young and old. This we all have in common. But death has never been far away. For living produces its own final pages. But the sunshine remains in the meadows. And the clouds come first to the mountains where soldiers die.
Life is in the sunshine of the meadows. Many will long remain here in the meadows and many will return. But all are passing through.