Dead at the edge of the road, under the bridge, with it’s head turned into it’s chest, an owl. White frightened face.
Thump, another bird hits the window making myself and the dog jump. An upturned thrush on the ground two legs kicking the air. I put it in an old tea towel and place it in a box on the window sill it’s body in shock. Later, it spreads it’s wings, a great stretch. It hobbles, it’s foot is turned in. The other leg is caught in a hole on the floor of the box. I frighten him more by moving him. He huddles into the tea towel. A while later he has stopped breathing.
Within the hour there is another thump at the window. I repeat the pattern.
I have placed four dead birds on top of the ditch. Three thrushes and a blackbird.
