The first day of Spring, I found a bird in a large flower pot just outside my sliding glass patio door. There, on the door at my eye level, were several tiny feathers cemented to the glass. The innocent little creature must have flown into the door and bounced into the pot.
Four weeks later.
The cycle of life goes on.
It was dead.
Four weeks later.
©Damyon T. Verbo - all rights reserved
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