It was still there when I had returned. We first met in passing that morning on the way home. It was alive then, if only barely, shivering in the snow. Had it been injured? Had it lost its way in the dark, waiting for the morning light to fly away? Had it become ill? Had the past week's heavy snowfalls made it too difficult to find enough food to survive?
I'll never know...
I felt bad for it. The bird was no longer afraid of humans. I could've brought it home with me. Let it warm up some. But I couldn't. I have nothing here to care, even temporarily, for an ailing animal. I left it where I had found it, hoping that nature would take a positive course for once.
But that did not happen...
The bird had frozen to death and was now being buried in the falling snows of that morning. I decided rather than let it lie there, to give it a "burial at sea". I returned its body to the food chain via the local river rather than let it rot out in the open. I can't say that was necessarily more dignified, but that's how it went down.
It died cold and alone and probably scared.
How sad...
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