I always feel bad when birds die.
In our previous home, there was a neighborhood cat that left dead birds on our back deck one year. Numerous times a bird would fly into our glass doors and windows of our sun room and just not survive. It was always unfortunate.
In our new home we have glass railings and large windows. I have already picked up half a dozen birds since June. I’m starting to see quite a variety of dead birds.
I have reached an age where I enjoy watching the living, flying birds outside. I have seen storks, hawks, owls, crows, geese, woodpeckers and all sorts of little cheep-cheeps. What I have discovered about myself is that when I find a bird that has died, I talk to it briefly. I’m apologetic. As if somehow I caused it’s demise. And then I toss them away unceremoniously.
After all, there’s nothing I can do for them. These wild birds entered the suburbs unwittingly. Or people created the suburbs in their homes?
I enjoy the bird’s songs and beauty, but when it ends, it ends.