When Icarus flew too close to the sun, was anyone there to catch him? When the wax, the feathers, and the sticks from his arms melted away to nothingness, who was there to hear him scream? I hope that wherever he fell—whether deep ocean blue or tides of sand or rolling hills or sharp bed of trees—Mother Nature cradled him closely to her chest with the sympathy and forgiveness that the heavens deprived him of.
