This sweet little baby, whom I have named Timothy, flew into a window today and perished. I saw him fly into the window and drop to the ground and quickly went over to see if he was just stunned. Unfortunately, he was dead. Because I didn't want anyone to just kick him to the curb or sweep him into the trash, I picked him up and wrapped him in a kleenex in my purse. He rode around to lunch with Tia and I and on our plethora of pressing errands while lying in repose in the back of my car. Now he has been carefully placed on a Sweet Life doily and laid in his little coffin. Poor little Timothy will be laid to rest tomorrow morning in the flower garden. Perhaps we will bury him in front of my statue of Jesus holding his heart (which is my FAVE statue) and say a little word. Wouldn't it be nice if Mr. and Mrs. Cardinal flitted in for the funeral (they live in the neighborhood, you know) and since he is a dignatary in the Catholic church being a cardinal and all. This is in memory of little Mr. Timothy.
A Bird Came Down the Walk by Emily Dickinson
A bird came down the walk: He did not know I saw; He bit an angle-worm in halves And ate the fellow, raw.
And then he drank a dew From a convenient grass, And then hopped sidewise to the wall To let a beetle pass.
He glanced with rapid eyes That hurried all abroad, -- They looked like frightened beads, I thought; He stirred his velvet head
Like one in danger; cautious, I offered him a crumb, And he unrolled his feathers And rowed him softer home
Than oars divide the ocean, Too silver for a seam, Or butterflies, off banks of noon, Leap, plashless, as they swim.
The service details are below: Private Service for Mr. Timothy Sparrow Saturday, August 22, 2009 7:00 a.m. (daybreak) Family only Birdseed breakfast to follow.
I am a Mom to two fabulous children, Maggie (23) and Daniel (19). I live in Kansas with my hardworking husband,, and my three darling dogs. I am a writer. My dream of all dreams is to move to Pismo Beach or Grover Beach and open a little restaurant that only serves breakfast and lunch called The Black Cat Cafe or a fabulous hotdog stand like the old Der Weinerschnitzel and live in a ramshackle beach cottage filled with hardwood floors, books, rag rugs, dogs, cats and sandy feet. I'd also have to have great cushy furniture, beautiful flower gardens, lots of chippy paint and a ramshackle rocker on the front porch to watch the waves from. Heavenly. If that didn't pan out I'd settle for a hillbilly cabin in the Ozarks filled with quilts and my favorite mason jars. I would plant a huge veggie garden and befriend raccoons and walk around in moth eaten sweaters. I'm not crazy, just a little eccentric.