The handy man was in his workshop when he heard a loud bang and as he was aware of sightings of black bears he circled the building warily. Against the white wall he saw this brown partridge. It was alive when he picked it up gently but died in his hands. I have kept bantam chickens a dozen years ago and not to use this bird was too complicated an emotion to go through. Still it was a chore to dress it. I hung it in the cold porch and on the second evening went to task. The beauty of life or ex-life at close quarters can stop a person dead on. Intricate designs and functions for different feathers; there is down and there is flight. On top of that there are pretty patterns in the brown.
In the end, I have in my hand a translucent pink mound of flesh, still a thing of beauty.
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