There is a greasy smear of feathers, on the glass. I thought I was watching a robin die.
She crashed into my window as I sat here, this morning.
Her beak, opening and closing in quick gasps, her feet, drawn tight into her body, red belly exposed. And then, her breathing slowed, and her eyes closed.
I stood watch, to guard her from the magpies.
But now, she has rolled herself onto her feet, eyes still closed, motionless again.
Go, little robin. Go.
**I left her, hidden behind a rock, with her eyes open, looking around, and her head moving, back and forth.
When I returned, there was nothing but a trail of feathers, leading to a pile of them.
***I kid you not - it is now 3:00 and another robin just flew into the very same window. She fared better than her friend, and flew off to sit on the top of the highest tree in this ugly suburb. I've partially drawn the blinds now, so that whatever is calling these birds to fling themselves through the glass, towards me, will be lessened.
2 comments:
Oh, poor little robin red-breast. Please tell me that she had just shed a pile of feathers (?!) as opposed to the pile being still attached to her little body. Poor little lady.
the pile was not attached to her little body, but the amount of them made me suspect a cat got to her, unless birds just loose a bunch of feathers after a trauma? maybe?
hopefully?
anyone?
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