I flushed a grebe from a marsh with an oar. The pied-bill, Podilymbus podiceps. Have you heard this bird's eerie call? I found it disquieting. I went after it with the oar, to make it shut up.

In my living room I was conducting a mock funeral for the false and necrotic parts of my personality. A private ceremony. A rose-breasted grosbeak smashed into the plate glass of the sliding patio door. The sudden appearance of Pheucticus ludovicianus and its regrettable death, while shocking, accentuated the atmosphere of the proceedings in a way I would come to appreciate. Note the distinctive white wing patches.