Fledgling

Outside my back door, there is a fledgling starling resting at the bottom of a pot, the thick roots of a newly potted Althea spread above him. Babies and young seem to be my niche. His soft, warm, expired body was my greeting this morning the moment I stepped out from my front door. Literally, right in the middle of the walkway from my house to the sidewalk (just like the carpenter bee found on one of our morning walks; I guess insects are a niche too.). With me, in regards to the dead that come my way, the Universe is very rarely subtle. Smack dab in the middle of my path is the trend. When my husband called from work, I asked him if he'd seen the bird on his way to his car this morning because I was thinking that maybe he'd been blown out by high winds last night. No, he hadn't been there when the husband had left. His ill-fated first flight couldn't have been long before I walked out the front door.

All of the children were in attendance (including one stark naked 2-year-old) for the funerary rites. They sang with me and helped scoop compost into the pot. My son chose the marshmallow to plant in the pot.