It's been quite a while since I've posted. So I figured today, the day I killed the bird, would be a good time to write.
I told a friend earlier that I had killed a bird. He reminded me of the children. Just after dusk, they'd gather 'round and ask Mama, "Where's Papa? Surely he isn't out still searching for worms?" Sadly, those worms won't be making it to the dinner table. No, that beautiful ruby bird's gone and smashed itself into the pavement. I was reminded of that deadly sin, gluttony, when my tires crushed it's fragile body. Why'd the darn thing have to be so consumed with the rigor mortis roadkill when my death machine of a car happened upon it?
I've had countess close calls prior to today's mournful event, but never, never has the darn bird stayed on the road. Always, at the last second it gloriously chants out, "I'll fly away..." and phew, just in the neck of time, peering out my rear view, I see the bird free in the air and near diminished- a speck to the eye.
But not today. The salmon feathered bird was gnawing away, apparently forgetting it had perched itself on a highly traveled and winding country road, and the bits of whatever it was prying off the pavement must have been that tasty. That tasty that it cost him his life. Think of the children.
But, I'll admit, about four minutes after the deadly encounter, I was sipping on my doppio espresso and had forgotten entirely about my murder. I suppose my chance meeting with gluttony, or perhaps greed, freed my mind from the guilt of my killing. Oh well, tomorrow's another day. And, sadly, there's many a more rubies in the rough.