As I walked into work yesterday, I saw that a dove had flown into a window and left his imprint on the glass. I took this picture with my cell phone so I couldn’t get the detail, but i could see his eyes, details in his beak. It was sad to think it may have been its last flight, but such a hauntingly beautiful final image.
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I was the shadow of the waxwing slain
By the false azure in the windowpane;
I was the smudge of ashen fluff—and I
Lived on, flew on, in the reflected sky.
(first four lines of the poem by the fictive poet John Shade, in the novel Pale Fire, by Vladimir Nabokov)
Luscious!
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