Sunday, August 17, 2014
It is an odd place to call home in my view but birds, like humans, are adaptable.
Waiting for its mother to return with food, the bird camouflaged well against the ground as it picked at the paint and tar and hopped on the gasoline-fumed pavement around tires and beneath vehicles.
My pictures are not clear but it seemed as if the bird was dragging feathers along its way. Was this just the shedding of baby fluff or did something more serious occur?
I left the bird ... wondering about its fate. It seemed vulnerable yet completely unconcerned.
Although it can be difficult to read the inscrutable face of an animal, author D. H. Lawrence expresses what I have observed when he wrote, "I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself."
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Copyright by Penelope Puddlisms