Possum rolled over to stare at the crack in his wall. It was longer then it had been yesterday.
"Even the crack changes day to day. But not me," he thought gloomily. "I'm the same every day. A witness. A ghost."
You see, Possum was usually a spectator to the forest's happenings, rather than center of the action. Sometimes it was enough to spectate--the recent #crowforbrains and #likeafox activity at the Brook of Faces had amused him greatly. But more often than not, Possum felt it should be otherwise; he should be the protagonist of his own story, instead of a background character. Nonetheless, he felt transparent, and when the word 'ghost' landed in his mind, he got chills.
A sudden and strange urge seized him. Little did he know it was merely his destiny as a possum: his duty as a member of the species.
Possum marched outside, found a nice spot in front of his house, and keeled over. He stuck his tongue out for effect. No, no. Too much. Tongue back in.
Hedgehog found him first. "Poor dear!" she cried aloud, and stroked his cheek with her small sweet palm. She ran off.
A few minutes later, she returned with Turkey and Fox. Fox sniffed at Possum's belly, which almost made him laugh. Turkey clucked pityingly. Hedgehog pressed a bouquet of bluebells against Possum's paw and wrenched his claws around the stems. "Shall we have a funeral at sunset?" she sniffled at the others.
Fox inspected Possum's neck with his nose. His warm breath tickled and Possum nearly lost it. "I guess so," said Fox. His voice betrayed some doubt. "Gives us time to gather everyone. I'll get Mole to dig a nice hole right here."
And it was soon quiet again. Possum didn't know what he was doing--or why--but he didn't want to move. Surely many wouldn't gather...and who knew? Perhaps he'd let them put him in the ground. He could watch the earthworms made cracks in the dirt until he actually did die. What difference did it make?
Before long, Mole began his industrious digging. He hummed as he worked, not sad at all. But let's not think Mole too callous for that. Digging was in his nature, and he wasn't greatly attached to the aboveground animals, having spent no time with them.
A trickle of animals came to see, to smell, to witness the mystery of death. Possum stayed frozen through it all. The sun dipped lower in the sky.
About an hour before sunset--judging by the shifting shadows Possum tracked behind his eyelids--Hedgehog, Fox, and Rabbit eased Possum onto his back. They covered him in flowers until only his face was exposed. Flowers surrounded his body on the ground as well; they had created a kind of botanical-possum mandala out of his form--and to think! Without Crow to guide them in arranging!
A great crowd gathered as the sky flared glorious colors. They cried and clucked and howled freely for Possum and for their shared fate as mortal creatures. But they also paused to breathe in the delicious scent of the flowers and the freshly exposed earth, and they admired the coral clouds through their tears, as was right. Fox said there, there to the more hysterical ones, but he sounded bemused.
The eulogies began. Possum was unmoved, inside and out, by the generic platitudes delivered by the first tentative speakers. But then Rabbit arose to address the crowd.
"Possum was an animal of few words, but his actions meant a great deal to me. Like when he kicked Crow's collection to the four winds on my behalf."
Fox, Squirrel, and Hedgehog laughed at the memory, while others tittered at the mere thought of it.
Pigeon came forth. "I wish I would have told Possum how much I learned from watching him watch everyone else. He observed us all, but never seemed to judge or interfere...unless it was called for. Remember that mess he served to Crow at the royal banquet?"
Everyone laughed. Everyone had been there.
"Anyway," Pigeon continued, wiping away tears with an iridescent wingtip, "I think Possum may have been enlightened. Beholding his calm observant nature has made me the writer I am today. Thank you, Possum."
There was much sniffling among the masses. Possum felt a dangerous burning behind his eyes.
Duck waddled up next and stood next to the floral opossum mound.
"I haven't spoken to Possum in years, but I too have been greatly influenced by him. He once stared at me with such depth and quietude and openness and kindness that I wondered what would happen if I studied myself the exact same way. Of course, that changed the course of my life. He was a genius."
Duck's voice was thick with the threat of sobs, and that thickness congealed in Possum's own throat to form a great lump. He wondered if the others could see it, if it was pushing the flowers on his neck skyward.
Luckily, a murmur arose through the crowd and curiosity dissolved the lump. "Goat's here!" he heard someone whisper excitedly. "What an honor!" said another.
"I wanted to pay my respects," bleated Goat, approaching Possum's body.
Oh, how Possum wanted to squint through one eye to see the famed King of the Mountain!
Goat's voice came nearer. "Word has reached me about Possum, and I only wish I had known this great being in life, instead of meeting him in death."
All were silent, pondering Possum's ordinary greatness and wondering if they would merit Goat's presence at their own funerals one day.
"He knew how to let others be, to live and let live. That's something I didn't learn until much later in life." Goat found Hedgehog's face in the crowd and winked. Curious eyes flew to Hedgehog, then darted back to Goat.
"May we all honor Possum by following his example," Goat concluded.
"Now just wait a minute!" A shrill voice pierced the air and Possum sensed shuffling and ruffling on the mound of dirt beside him. "As your ruler, I have something to say!"
"Our ruler?" Foxed barked. "Crow, you still think you're our ruler?" He howled with laughter, and he was not alone. Even the distant mountain and the stream and the Brook of Faces and the meadow seemed to laugh. Everyone joined in.
Including Possum.
Possum's belly shook away all the flowers. He kicked all four legs. For the first time during his funeral, he couldn't breathe. It was just too funny.
Crow spotted his movement first and flew off, frightened that this had been another set-up to humiliate him. Once a few attendees up front had figured out what had happened, they cried out in happiness.
"Possum, you're alright!"
"You're alive?!"
"It's a miracle!"
"Say something, Possum!"
Possum sat up and looked at their delighted, tear-streaked faces.
"I wasn't sure what my place among the living was anymore. But now I remember." Ah quack, the lump was back. Possum swallowed forcefully. "Thank you all for caring and for coming. I observe you all because you are each precious, unrepeatable, and fascinating. I don't interfere because I don't need to. I love you."
"And we love you!" a chorus of voices replied. They piled on Possum, a great heap of whiskers and fur and tails and bills, of feathers and quills and wet green skin, of horns and teeth and talons and paws.
"Let's have a feast!" Fox shouted. "A proper one! To celebrate Possum and our friendship!"
The animals cheered and scattered, returning quickly with all manner of goodies. They made merry in the bright moonlight. They danced under the stars. They fed each other delicious things and they sang. Even Crow came back around, observing shyly at the edge of the festivities, and Fox offered him the best morsel in his possession. Peace was made without a single word, and soon Crow was dancing with the rest.
Every now and then, Possum stopped just to watch it all. And that was as it should be.
That night, the animals lived and let live with gladness. Each one felt at home in themselves and with one another, upon the good Earth and amidst the generous sky, as we are meant to.
THE END