Nights

Black Bird

I found a black bird.
A raven. Royalty. A creature that one could've seen proudly soaring through the clear air above.

The ruler had fallen.

Dead. Left to rot in a greasy puddle on a grey road. A shadow of the glory that once was.

Talons, like crescent daggers delicately curved in fragile silence. Feathers, though slightly ruffled, still shined.

That nearly invisible indigo still graced the midnight wings.

Even here, even in such filth, the shadow of the life once there was beautiful.

The proof of innocent spirit given the worst treatment.

A creature of the sky did not deserve this.

I couldn't leave it there.

Couldn't let the beautiful hollow bones just sit in mud and oil to be crushed by uncaring, reckless shells of violence.

Couldn't let those beautiful onyx feathers be hidden by dirt and mud.

With nothing but respect in my heart, I carefully moved the cold frame. I carried it as though it were made of glass.

And as gently as I could, I set the raven down. Away from the loud and harmful asphalt.

It lay on the snow that had fallen days earlier. Fallen, just like our majesty had.

Though the winter white was melting, and the black body decaying, both were made of perfect beauty.

And the shimmering bright ice became a final bed for the shining dark feathers.