I buried a crow in the backyard this morning a single voice on a high branch heralding the rough ceremony to the flock. Always a trace superstitious conscious of all those mysterious connections I hope my disinterest economy of emotion and shallow hole are not mistaken for disrespect.
Neighbours gathered on the road houses in darkness and white silence one knew and was looking for evidence in the shrubs recalling a similar incident years ago shows me the long bar equivalent of a blown fuse on the power pole spots the black body in the tall grass. Earlier a boom disconcerting bang lights and a dozen small electric motors die amid a sudden cacophony of startled crow.
In an hour NS Power has life back to normal printer kicks on desk lamp ceiling lights refrigerator and fans. For an instant I am aware of the connection between my comfort and convenience and the death of another whose wings are folded forever sealed beneath a foot of earth. Monday morning here I come.