It's been... a day. The DM played a gig last night until past our usual bedtime, so my groggy self spent a little longer than usual coming to grips with the morning. From my disoriented perch on the sofa I sensed a flutter and heard a thunk. Uh oh.
Sure enough, there below the front window was a bird. I hoped she was only stunned, but over a period of maybe ten minutes she faded, shuddered, and died. It's not the first time I've witnessed death, but for some reason this little passing seemed particularly poignant. How many times a day does such a scene play out unnoticed and un-noted?
Black-throated blue warbler, female. Not a common sighting in these parts. In fact-- she was my first. In action along the river would have been a preferred life-bird experience, but there she was, a little gray-green-yellow mound on my porch.
I imagined her last breath as a tiny, swirling eddy, so small that only the air itself would feel her exhale and acknowledge the loss. Except I was there, too. And as a witness it's my duty to testify...
I saw her. I held her. Honored. Regarded. Regretted.