Every morning we go for a walk through the forest, as the blackbirds sign their song and the little tits fly off and on. Today, out of the blue, a small bird lay on the path in front of us. No idea what had happened to her, as she didn’t have any injuries. Perhaps she had flown into something? Or maybe she was just old and sick. We carried her to the giant oak where the squirrels live and buried her there. A little rock on her grave.