Robin - Love in the Time of Apocalypse
I found the bird in a flower bed under the east-facing window. And only then remembered that I'd heard, the day before, the sound of an impact but never got up to check and see whether I could help.
I squatted on my heels and looked at the dead, cold thing, its neck bent back and the pale delicate nature of its eyelids, half-closed. Maybe I couldn't have done a thing for it at the moment of the strike, but I should have tried. We are on our way to a hundred and twenty thousand deaths now, and I cannot allow myself to become inured, not to a single one.
I picked the robin up and carried it to the back of my acre, to the fence line where the foxes patrol at night. I cut flowers from the lilac trees, and surrounded the unliving body with the open blossoms, the sweetness of life. By nightfall, the foxes would find the robin and carry it away. And maybe they would wonder at the sight of it, a circle of lilacs unfolding.