The family and moi were at a campground the past few days. Because I’m with them, we got a little cabin to stay in. I don’t tent. Call me a sissy if you want. I don’t care. I just laugh at you when the rain comes.
Next to our cabin one day we came across this bird on the ground, breathing his last. Literally. It’s chest was heaving, it’s head was pulled back, trying to breath, doing everything it could to stay alive, but there was no hope. I wondered what was taking the bird down. Did it run into the window on the side of the cabin? Did it just get old and have a heart attack and fall from the tree above? There’s no way to know.
It was compelling stuff. It was hard to watch, and yet we couldn’t walk away. Together, we saw how death takes over. How the fight is lost. And I think it was good for us to see. All of us.
This bird had been able to fly, which is something I can only dream of. It made it’s way out of the nest and into the world with very little help. Like all birds, it was amazing. An intricate work of art that decorated the skies.
I wasn’t sure what to do with the body. I wanted to honor it somehow, but I couldn’t think of anything. I didn’t have a shovel to bury it. I ended up putting it in a plastic cup and setting it in a garbage can.
Death is a part of things. We shouldn’t obsess over it. But it’s a reality we need to face. If you don’t, you won’t make good use of the time you have here. If you’re pretending you’re going to be here forever, then you’re likely to waste a lot of good time doing . . . stuff. You know. Stuff.
Peace to you.
© LW Publishing 2010