Something hits the office window with a sharp bang.
I jump, letting out a little yelp, then stand with my heart palpitating and my shaking hands clutching my throat.
Nothing moves. The air is still. Outside the windows, the sky is a glowering, leaden gray.
Gathering my courage, I go to the windows and look out, scanning the horizon. I see nothing unusual. The yard is empty. The rocky beach is clear. It isn’t until I’m about to turn away that I discover the source of the sound.
On the ground below the window lies the lifeless body of a blue jay. Its neck is bent at an unnatural angle. Its legs extend stiffly out from the trunk, talons curved like claws. Its black eyes stare sightlessly up at me.
There’s a ghostly outline of the bird’s body on the windowpane where it hit, wings outstret
