Slowly, Montaigne begins to approach death “not as a catastrophe but as something beautiful and inevitable,” like an autumn leaf falling from a tree. The leaf doesn’t worry about how to fall, and nor should we. “If you do not know how to die, don’t worry; Nature will tell you what to do on the spot, fully and adequately. She will do the job perfectly for you; don’t bother your head about it.” Will she, Michel? I hope so. She is awfully mercurial. One moment she’s blooming cherry blossoms, the next she’s unleashing a category 5 hurricane. I don’t subscribe to the if-it’s-natural-it-must-be-good
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