Dead thrush...

I wouldn’t call my life predictable or boring. I wouldn’t call it empty, routine or as dead as a doorpost. But when you really have nothing new to write about other than the frost that formed on the cars the other night you really have to wonder just where your life is going.

Of course I know where my life is going ultimately, we all do, but up until I reach that point I can’t say that I have much idea how it is going to run. Not that I mind. I’ve never been one for wanting to know what the future holds and fortune tellers scare me in the same way visits to the doctors do. What if you find out something you don’t want to know? Once you know a thing there’s no unknowing it – better to live in ignorance than fear maybe.

Anyway, I don’t know if it was the frost that caused the young thrush that I saw on my morning amble to nowhere to die. It was a very young thrush - so late in the year - and it didn’t have a mark on it. If it wasn’t for the fact that thrushes do not sleep on their backs on garden paths I might have believed it to be asleep. Of course it was as dead as that famous Norwegian Blue – not resting or sleeping, but as dead as that doorpost I mentioned. Although just why a doorpost should be deemed dead I really have no idea.

I’m sure that the poor thrush hadn’t visited a fortune teller. I’m sure that his or her death came as a surprise, living its life in ignorance without fear until the end. I only hope that the poor thing didn’t die from flying into a doorpost or that seeing a dead thrush is a harbinger of doom.