A hawk perches on a tree overlooking our bird feeders. The little birds come and go--chickadees, nuthatches, titmice, woodpeckers. A few bold ones flit in the same tree the hawk sits in.
Finally, we hear a thud on the deck. The little birds carry on eating at the bird feeder as if nothing has happened.
When death strikes an acquaintance, we carry on in our own lives, going about our business.
This morning Death was perched in a tree. Some flitted around it. Death strikes. Life goes on.
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