Where do birds go when they die?
I was thinking about this as I walked the paddocks this morning
As I’ve done since a child, when I walked for miles too
There are thousands of birds in the sky
Huge flocks that circle
Yet only a few corpses on the ground
And never of natural causes
Like old age
I’ve seen the leftovers of fox and cat
Scattered feathers and scorched
After a collision with power line
I’ve seen birds that came to harm
But none that simply died of old age
Or that I’ve ever found
I like to think that perhaps when birds know they are dying
They keep flying
Higher and higher
Until they run out of oxygen
Or are burnt up by the outer layers of the earths atmosphere
As it circles
From that great height
They turn one last time
And witness back here
How very small we all are
The agriculture and farming
They give witness
Then close their eyes
And simply disintegrate
That would be a death worth the flight
Worth the fight
And then I wonder at my own mind
Having thoughts like these
Early on a Tuesday morning
I’m not sure when the appropriate time is to be thinking such things
I rather like that I do
On a random Tuesday
I hope I don’t lose my mind when I’m old
I would really miss it
*and there are others like me I know. Whose brains are always painting what drifts in on the ether.
I have a lovely friend we got to discussing whales. Whales have graveyards deep under the ocean – they return and die sinking through the water. All those bones.
A natural thing
In nature to nature
It is reassuring
Especially given the awful trip many humans endure at the end
I want to walk out into the bush and keep walking until I fall
Die like an animal burrowed near a comforting small tree
Don’t come looking for me
Or my bones
They’ll be comfortable
12 thoughts on “Disintegration”
A wonderfully reflective piece!
Thanks Colin, it’s one of those things that runs around in my head like a marble in bowl till I take it out and look at it on the page
You are very welcome!
Haha, what a great image 😉
I never thought about where birds go when they die. You’re right about never finding the body of a bird who passed from old age. I think you are onto something. I was listening to an animated conversation birds were having the other day when I was out in the garden the other day and wondered what they were talking about. They certainly make a lot of noise.
There is a particular family of Aussie birds called Squakers, Lousy Jacks, Happy Jacks (all sorts of names) and they are so loud and obviously all conversing that I would love to know why they were saying. I love birds, always have.
A wonderful way to think of death and our own passing.
As a child it was so natural asking past animal bones – I think half the fear comes from the way it is handled so clinically and artificially – it is for me anyway. I read a book about the sky burials I think it occurs in Nepal – it makes so much more sense then what we do. I have a bit of a morbid horror of being buried or cremated.
Nailed it! I’m thinking about those birds now 👌
Yep – all day – brain coming up with mad thoughts 😂😂but I love it.
I do indeed have the same thoughts. “Don’t look for me, keep walking on”…amazing Kate. ❣️
Thanks Karla 💕
Thanks for sharing this lovely written truth!