I can’t get the image out of my head. A week ago, a mourning dove flew into our closed window. It was a bright day. The tinted glass captured a mirror image of our backyard in vivid detail. The bird smacked into it, crumpling into a pile of feathers and sinew. The death disturbed my girls, particularly Coco. She is tenderhearted toward all forms of wildlife.
Cherry explained, “It was just a dove and they don’t have very big brains. He must have thought he was flying into another part of the yard. Bird Brain.”
I shoveled the dove into a Walgreens bag and tossed it into the dumpster behind the house.
When I came back to the patio, I saw it. The bird in flight left a smudge. The detail of wings and feathers and beak, and the body language of distress, then death, looked like a photograph on the glass. I couldn’t look away. The image was interesting and disturbing.
I wanted to protect my family from the memory. So, I grabbed a bottle of glass cleaner and spritzed the image. Although, I wiped it down with a clean cloth, I haven’t been able to get that dove’s imprint out of my head.