A squawking pheasant shoots up from the weeds alongside our favorite walking path. Wings drum under our chins, and the white ring flashes in the sun. A few yards beyond us, an explosion of feathers.
The pheasant sprawls on the ground like a ripped pillow. Neck like a broken cornstalk, the bird’s bleeding eyes stare at the long, pointed tail.
We consider a covering of dirt and weeds as we watch the falcon circle. Instead we go on.
The pheasant sprawls on the ground like a ripped pillow. Neck like a broken cornstalk, the bird’s bleeding eyes stare at the long, pointed tail.
We consider a covering of dirt and weeds as we watch the falcon circle. Instead we go on.
