Claxton, Norfolk I laid my song thrush down in the earth where all those life scenes and memories and scents arose
Even in death it looked perfect, spots on his chest as bold as a summer’s morning. It was a dead song thrush. The tiny yellow tips to the coverts and the faintest crease of like colour at the corners of the beak suggested a bird of the year, inexperienced in the ways of cats or windows. Yet what to do with something so beautiful?
First I had work. Our garden is split in three – vegetables down one side; a middle lawn running all the way to autumn’s only colour, a cyclamen patch in the shadows under the hollies; and on the other side, by the hedge, a meadow area that has been left entirely to steer its own course for the past eight years.
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Source: Guardian Environment