After reading Keats's "Ode to a Nightingale", I am filled with thoughts of my own mortality, considering my own desire - as Keats did - to create some lasting echo for future generations to grasp and remember that I was once alive. His rhyme and rhythmic pace creates the illusion of strolling across the fields to the shadowed woods of the Nightingale's home, joining its flight and song on a journey to fantasy worlds of imagination. I have joined that venture so many times before that I am able to slip away from reality without any doubt or hesitation, willfully hastening myself to other lands even in the presence of anchored friends. This ode strikes some unknown bell within me. Its music is peaceful and contemplative. I'll share it with you.
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