Cracked eggs, dead birds, scream as they fight for life. (He sang for spring and he sang for me.)

Belvedere Jehosophat - Sunday, August 31, 2003 - 12:06:35 - print it raw

Spotted at a local Nissan dealership a few weeks ago was the remains of a recently deceased sparrow. Little notice was taken and the bird’s fate was dismissed as just another cruel joke perpetrated by the one true God, Entropy.

Subsequent journeys have revealed that no attempt to clear away the corpse have been made, and, as a result, the bird’s body has, for the past month, lingered, ravaged by nature and the disgusted glances of those passing by.

Yet, despite the sparrow’s unfortunate circumstances, there still exists the semblance of life, a spark, one driven by that universal though futile attempt to defy death.

The bird, when keen eyes are distracted, keeps moving slightly, almost as if it is acting out some sort of grotesque avian danse macabre and attempting to put off death for another day.

That a potent metaphor exists is certain—however, it is one too abstruse to be penetrated by the living dead.

On that note...

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