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
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