You had the misfortune of finding your way into the most unfriendly house possible, and paid for it with your life. We’re really a bird-loving house, if you can believe that; the fact that we have four cats does not diminish our respect for your beauty or abilities. When my pregnant wife brought you out to me, a look of focused concern on her face, I knew things weren’t good for you, even before I saw the blood on your breast. You were fighting to hold on, even though every nerve in your body was screaming FLY AWAY DAMMIT, but we could tell your back was most likely broken and all the wires were crossed. Instead, you laid in her small hand and defiantly stared at us with one dark eye, all three of us knowing what was coming and powerless to stop it.

In death you look less like a warrior and more like a disheveled pile of feathers, earthbound and cold. I apologize for not being skilled enough to capture your real essence: master of the sky, weightless and free, the way we all wish to live.