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.
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