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Singing Agathe
I found a dead bird today while shoveling. My first thought:

"Don't touch it, or the Grim Bird Reaper won't take it!"

My second thought:

"Ok, I've used that joke before. Time to get out of the house more often."

Then I found the second bird, a few doors down. The second one made me sad. Not only because of it's frozen, outstretched wing, feathers spread as if to welcome some small child into it's embrace. Just seeing a second victim, frozen and fallen, brought about a shift.

As I put the shovel away, warm and quick birds sang in the trees, given momentarily warmth by a star millions of miles in the distance. They had no thought of luck, of fortune, of the cold of the night that kills and the sun that spares the sparrows.