I saw a bird die today as it flew under a car with its friend as I walked down the street.
Only one flew back out.
I wasn’t sure what had happened until I saw his small body left behind on the road in the middle of an intersection in Jamaica Plain. I wondered if the driver even knew. This tiny, mangled body seemed to stop time for a number of us as we silently waited for the light to change.
After what felt like a living death for over two years, it’d seemed as if surprise emotional breakthroughs had almost ceased to happen, let alone from the smallest of messengers.
But staring at this little bird, I suddenly realized I’d been standing in the road for too long, and cars began to pass me.
And I started to cry.
So I walked to the pond and sat on a bench for a long time in the sun. And I tried to empty my head, save for the moment’s surprising softness.
That Sunday morning a tiny death unexpectedly broke me open. And somehow two years on, everything could still hurt.
Ingrid 