Driving home in the spring twilight.

Through the window came the fragrant exhilarating air that stimulates birds into mating frenzies and fatal mistakes.

Two minors dipped dangerously close to the front of my car when suddenly I had to brake.  

There was a build-up in the right lane which was not unusual in this strip of retail businesses.

But I realised it wasn’t a turning car holding up the line when one veered to the opposite side to avoid something.

The queue began to inch forward and then I saw the reason.

Not even the crow – the smartest of all the species – is immune to misjudgement during this silly season.

Large and magnificent, but crippled – shimmering wings useless and feet dragging.

It was hauling itself across to the centre of the road.

The white luminous eye staring, its beak opening and closing. A life coming to its closing

Does intelligence give it the capacity to realise its fate?

I was approaching and wanting to help.

It reached a narrow painted traffic island – a refuge of sorts – but as I drew up beside and looked down, it died.

The next day he was just paste and a tattered wing.

A week later there wasn’t even a stain to mark his final moments.