Death, it is the blackened stumps of the wildlife caught in the worst of fires. It's the silence before the storm and the storm itself. It prowls, it preys on the weakest. It is both the biggest, strongest bear and the deadliest bug bite.

It's an infinite loop intertwined with life that all humans have to deal with. Death does not discriminate; it loves to take the youngest, it loves to take the oldest, and loves to take everything in between.

It's a terrifying presence in everyday life, and you never really know when the scaly, slithering snake will strike.

Yet, it can be beautiful.

Most wouldn't think so, probably have never put "death" and "beautiful" together in the same sentence, let alone even in the same paragraph. But death is beautiful. It can be like the last whisper of a fall breeze before winter sets in. Or is like the sunset, right when the last of the red from the sinking sun fades from the darkened night sky. It can be the peace on a late Sunday afternoon, sitting in the shade of a giant tree in the summer. Death is the last scream of the cicada before summer ends. It's the soft, last breath breathed out in sleep before the elderly take the hands of angels.

Maybe that's why so many people are fascinated with death, with the questions of how it feels, what happens after, and where does the soul go.

Death is a question, and an answer for some who believe life is no longer worth it.

I wonder, though, what makes it so beautiful yet so terrifying?