Jitterbug Perfume

by Tom Robbins

Oh, darling, I know that life is good, and that it still holds surprises for me, but maybe death is good, too; certainly it offers some surprise.

He was becoming unstuck, he was sure of that—his bones were no longer wrapped in flesh but in clouds of dust, in hummingbirds, dragonflies, and luminous moths—but so perfect was his equilibrium that he felt no fear. He was vast, he was many, he was dynamic, he was eternal. Then, suddenly, he was falling, not downward but outward, beyond the horizon—as if the earth had an edge after all.

Like that rarity, the wise husband, it was strong enough to possess its mate, secure enough to allow her freedom.

“Death hath more than one way to defeat a man, it seems. Death bests thee even while thou liveth.” Then