I buried a blue jay today
perfect body, plume and beak
in my garden compost pile
deep enough to make a difference.
The bird must have fallen
from a low hemlock branch
in a protected cul-de-sac.
For three days I watched that death
give plush color to my brown and grey
outdoors. There have been other
fatalities after the weather turned:
a wren, finch and robin
all without loss of hope.
But this blue jay silenced a chorus.