El Pajaro Muerta

I parked my car, got out, crossed the street and walked up the sidewalk.  I was feeling carefree and dreaming whimsical. I stepped onto a section of the sidewalk that had been painted pink and there it was. I stopped, stunned and unable to step any further. A bird, the bird.

The horror of the scene was intense. It had not been there long… dying… alone. The feathers were still bright and vivid, a creamy white that faded into milky browns and a startling yellow throat, made even more strikingly vivid because of the pink sidewalk. 

The blood under it’s snapped and lifeless neck was a deep fluid crimson.

But as the gruesome scene unfolded there was a fairy tale like beauty about it.

This week enjoy El Pajaro Muerta – The Dead  Bird