Blood on the Wind

Yesterday while out on my run I saw two birds fly into the path of a car. Only one survived. In a puff of feathers one bird's life was over and as I jogged the warm smell of blood was pushed into my open mouth by the breeze. Nearby the other bird sat in a tree warbling. It bothered me, the taste of blood in my mouth, a weaker, less coppery taste than that of my own, but the scent and taste was still that of life. Pausing in my run I turned back and, using a small set of sticks, removed the bird's body from the road. It was crushed and there was gore smeared on the pavement, the once bright brown eyes completely disappeared. Placing the body gently in the greenery I told it to rejoin the earth and someday they would fly again. Resuming my run I spat out the lingering flavour into the dust.