One year

A few days ago, I got a few drops of water from where it had been trapped outside and looked at it under a small microscope. As expected, I saw a one-cell animal swimming around a little chunk of something that it found nutrition in. A brainless, simple form of life, yet it had needs and drive and, like all of us, one shot at life in the universe. Over time, its life will be exactly as meaningful and important as mine or anyone else's. Humbling.
Last night, while going for a walk, I came across a possum in my driveway. It looked at me and I at it, both discerning whether or not the other was a threat. After a dozen seconds, it scrambled into the darkness of my back yard. So ugly it's cute, it's been around for twenty million years and is the only marsupial I'll see in the wild on the East Coast of the United States, where I live.
This morning I went outside to feed my koi and saw a hawk trapped in the plastic fencing the construction crew building a new house next door put up. His leg was snared. I called neighbors, got work gloves and scissors, and headed out to help it get free, but it had done so on its own by then. While trapped, many smaller birds were yelling at it, some doing dive bomb feints toward it. If birds can feel embarrassment, the hawk, a big one, would've been feeling it. Imagine being at the top of your food chain and in that situation. Poor thing. 
A year ago today the cat I'd had for just seventy-two days died of a form of cancer similar to my own. It still hurts.