#130.20 - Sunday #50 (yes, still)

Dusk descends

I thought that I would just round it up to the 130th entry to make it even now.

Bring it up to date, as it were.

I heard a thunk against the French doors and went to investigate and saw that a baby bird, a sparrow, had flown so hard into the glass that it broke its neck and died. It was instant, so I am grateful for that. But it was heartbreaking that this new life now had to leave. After the first few weeks, it was now no longer. I held it in my hands and stroked it, waiting for it to return, but it was gone. Its fragile neck hanging limply over its shoulders. Its feet curled and so soft. The feathers, barely out of down. I could not bring myself to put it in the bin, so I decided I would bury it in the compost heap. I wrapped it in two shiny leaves and placed bluebells, ramsons and dandelion seeds over it. Then I folded the tiny parcel and tucked it in between the grasses of the bin. I wanted to cry. I felt for the parents who worked so hard to raise it, the little being which fought so hard to grow those wings, now only to break its neck against our home. How could it have flown so hard against an immovable object that it was killed? In all my time I have never seen that happen.

Dusk is falling now and growing darkness is soaked with blackbird song. Nothing seems fair does it? People live and people die. Are we to turn to life or keep staunching an inevitable death? I know what I would choose.

Once again, I gather the possibilities...