Wren.

I heard her arrive – a soft tap on one of the back windows – and I quickly went to the door to see. At first glance there was no sight of her and I thought perhaps she had already gone.

I was hoping for that, actually, not being in the right mood to deal with anything else.

But I opened the screen door, anyway, and saw her lying a few feet away from me – her face pointing upward to the overcast sky, her eyes opening and closing slowly and her chest rising and falling faster than I could have imagined possible.

I walked barefoot across the patio and spoke in the softest whisper I could summon. “Are you okay?” My entire body was tense. She stared at me, blankly, and opened her mouth slightly to pant.

I’ve seen that expression before; I know what happens next.

As gently as I could, I lifted her from the hard stone. She lay across my cupped hands – lighter than the air and softer than even the beagle’s ears – and I stroked the back of her head in a way that I hoped was comforting. “It’s okay. It’s okay.” I hope the warmth of my always-too-hot hands might soothe her.

She moved slightly and she shifted her body and then, just like that, she stopped breathing. Her body relaxed completely, her feet curled inward and she seemed to be even lighter than she had a mere second before. Then her tail feathers expanded – like a peacock, almost – and.. then she was gone.

I carried her over to the garden and set her down in the midst of the bright green leaves – perhaps her family would want to visit, I thought, as I placed her there. Burying her didn’t seem right – not now, not yet, but maybe tomorrow. Not while she’s still warm.