I imagined Dia de los Muertos, day of the dead was in full swing in our North West Tasmanian garden today. Borrowed from another culture; a new face in a fresh place. I say that with Frida Kahlo colour and thematics in mind. The decorations for the dearly departed were lavish; roses, nasturtium and fuschia, adorned the site of a black bird husk.
A spirited child had collected the fallen body a day earlier. He crafted a nest of twig and bloom. The winged creature’s stiff frame was tended to; and ‘a concert’ was called to the small familiar crowd. After a quick giggly tune, the crowd moved right up close for a look at the corpse. Something wiggled near the eye socket.
A dead bird, It lived in the same space we do, chattered while we spoke, sang at times when we played. Nested, as we bunkered down in rough weather and lived with a family here too.