The Ends of Days and Small Creatures

It surprises me how infrequently we come across dead animals and birds. When we do, the small bodies sometimes have an unsettling beauty.

A juvenile cormorant curls gracefully in a ditch by the side of the road

A tiny velvety mole, possibly a victim of Esau’s vigilante activities, lies on the grass in eastern Long Island

In Central Park, near Frederick Douglass Plaza, a flash of brilliant green and yellow at the base of a tree reveals itself to be, not a discarded plastic toy, as I first thought, but the body of a parakeet.

Days end on Long Island

over the Hudsonand, most strangely and spectacularly, in Dallas, where the divided sky lingers until full dark

Explore posts in the same categories: 2010, August, Birds, In the City, In the Country, Rodents (other than squirrels), Wildlife/Natural History

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5 Comments on “The Ends of Days and Small Creatures”

  1. I started reading your blog around the time of the coyote sightings this past winter. It’s a real pleasure! I have a dog too, and we’ve seen some tiny moles scampering (away from my dog) in the park. Before your post, I assumed they were baby mice, due to a misconception that blind animals don’t run so fast. Moles do!

    • Ah, but that little dead mole was discovered not in a NYC park, but out on the eastern shore of Long Island. So your little urban scamperers may indeed be mice. It’s made me curious, though, so I will try to find out whether we do indeed have moles in Central Park — and whether they scamper! Thank you so much for your kind words, and for visiting.

  2. Charlotte Says:

    Unsettling to be sure, but beautiful. Why do these images not repulse me like the ones from the Gulf? Maybe because they had a fairer fight to the death, or maybe not….

  3. Brilliant and beautiful. Daddy-O

  4. mthew Says:

    Death is only scary if we think it is not a part of life, but, pace all the fools looking for immortality, in fact it is part of life, the last part, in the individual sense, but also a continuation of life, with the recycling of material back into the ecosystem.

    Still, a moment of sadness is in order. I feel the most for the parrot, stolen from a far off place for someone’s vanity and ego, or, as obscene, bred for profit.

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