I was walking the wetlands trail and came upon a very dead crow in the middle of the path. Not long dead but the eyes were gone as they always seem to go first. Not much damage to the body and didn't look to be the work of a predator.
The trail was quite boggy from the recent rains and I soon turned back and retraced my steps to the main path. A second dead crow was lying beside the trail where I had just passed twenty minutes earlier when there had been no crow in sight. This newly dead crow was completely intact, not even the eyes were missing.
One side of my brain had the yellow crime scene tape out and was thinking like a detective from the bird homicide division. No sign of a predator, or a weapon, or cause of death.
That was conflicting with my inner philosopher/poet who wanted to write an ode to the fallen bird that must have been bewildered by its swift demise. Earlier this morning the crow was most likely flying about doing a routine search for food with a band of fellow crows. This afternoon, its heart stopped and it unceremoniously landed here in the sun. And of course I was confronted, as we all are, by how dropping dead unexpectantly can happen to all living beings.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Comments Welcome.