Friday, February 13, 2009
WHAT HAPPENED HERE?
What happened here? That’s what I always wonder when I find such traces. A drop of blood in the snow. Hair tufts caught on a twig. A handful of smoky-gray feathers, damp and matted, atop last fall’s coppery sycamore leaves. What fierce scenario played out while my gaze was elsewhere? Did the end come quick, sharp-talons swooping from ashen February sky? Give me the details. Let me understand this tragedy’s events and shape. Please. I see the death notice, but I want the story. Now, before the wind rises and erases these small reminders. And I, caring but distracted, forget to honor a passing with mourning.