Monday December 26th 2011 Tim
The Lady Bird wintering in
the room where I sleep fell onto his back early last night and he
proceeded to set up a buzzing noise. I imagined him weak from
hunger and thirst, and I concluded that given my own condition, warm and
full up under blankets, the least I could do was allow him his last
moments of grief without earning for myself the title 'Angel of Death'
in the last hours of what had been a most peaceful day.
I knew he was somewhere under or
beside, one or other of the sometimes useful objects that have residence
upon the table near my bed. I knew too, that if I could find him, he might
climb quickly onto my thumb, where he might rearrange his wings, and then I
could set him somewhere, perhaps colder, so he might go back to sleep. For a
few minutes at least, I was brave enough to share his pain, think about