Death of a Bird

For every bird there is this last migration:
Once more the cooling year kindles her heart;
With a warm passage to the summer station
Love pricks the course in lights across the chart.
From a much longer poem by AD Hope


Someone had carefully picked him up and placed him in the post box shrine, nestling amongst the camellias; the BVM and Masai warrior gazing on. A metaphor for many things perhaps. Discuss.


We went to a funeral this afternoon. J was an incredibly energetic much loved woman: swimmer, gardener, animal lover, singer, flower arranger  traveller. Somehow she contracted septicaemia last week and within a few days was dead. The shock was palpable. 


Sorry to sound so morbid. It has actually been a beautiful day and after the funeral we walked around the headland marvelling at the colours and clarity, and at the coldness of the sea.