It seems that every time I become stuck in a routine I am always reminded of how near death can be.  Earlier today my brother found a baby possum and brought it home in a box.  I looked at it crawling around in what appeared to be berry juice, but what we wondered (my brother and I) was if the berry juice was a mix of juice and blood from a wound, so he put on gloves and lifted it by its tail in the air to discover if it had a wound.  When he held it up it appeared to have something wrong with it but we couldn't really tell because it looked like matted fur from the berry juice but we thought it could also be mistaken for an open wound.  We dug a little further to determine what it was so we sprayed the spot with a little water, but we still couldn't accurately tell if it was a wound or not.  We put it in the bathtub to examine it a little further.  The berry began to drip into the tub and we realized it was blood as well, even though we weren't entirely sure.  It crawled to the head of the tub and laid on its side and then all of a sudden stopped breathing.  The possum took a few deep breathes with a slight struggle in its body and began to stiffen out. After a few minutes we heard it make a noise, it's final noise as it tried to grasp for air.  After it made the noise its tongue stuck out as it's final motion.  It laid motionless in the white bathtub around it's mix of berry and blood.  It's tail was curled like a spiral.  Just wanted to share that and won't be too profound this time, but I didn't want to leave out this little part of my life.