dead flicker

A rather large bird

The window is thick plate glass. It needed to be. The flicker hit with a bam like a baseball and dropped into the tall grass trembling dead. By the time I walked outside to see, the bird was still and limper than limp. I picked it up by its silver feet. The feathers that looked copper-colored in flight were beautiful translucent orange. For some reason I acted quickly, digging a hole in the garden to bury him in. Through the act of his dying he’d become one with the family, and I wanted him close by.

Sign up for email delivery of JHFARR.COM posts via Substack! Same content sooner with bigger photos! ⬇︎

John Hamilton Farr lives at 7,000 feet in Ranchos de Taos, New Mexico, U.S.A. As New York Times best-selling author James C. Moore tells it, John is “a man attuned to the world who sees it differently than you and I and writes about it with a language and a vision of life that is impossible to ignore.” This JHFARR.COM site is the master writing archive. To email John, please see CONTACT INFO on About page. For a complete list of all John’s writing, photography, NFTs, and social media links, please visit JHFARR.ART  

  • judyinboston October 19, 2015, 6:25 AM

    I always feel bad when birds crash into the windows. We had a goldfinch go kamikaze this fall, and I buried him next to the flowering quince. Sometimes the birds glance off and don’t kill themselves. The flicker was beautiful. I’ve never seen one up close like that. Poor thing.

Previous post:

Next post:



Latest Posts

Discover more from JHFARR.COM

Subscribe now to keep reading and get access to the full archive.

Continue reading