Big blue feathered bird dead in the gutter.
I picked it up and placed it on the wall. A man with his young daughter passed. “It’s a jay that is” he said
“I used to shoot them when i was younger, but not now – we gotta save them otherwise we’ll lose them”
It got hit by a car. Maybe it was flying low across. Or looking for a drink.
The daughter touched delicately it’s beautiful blue wings – the colour of a bright blue summer day. But now all too sadly drably dead.
Dead as winter.
