On a typical run I will see several pulverised little bodies in the road. Usually they will be long dead, barely recognisable and I will try not to get transfixed by the horrible mess of their untimely death. On this occasion the little lump in the road was different. It wasn’t tainted road grey, its flash of yellow instead of the usual sickening red caught my eye. It was a coal tit. ‘That’s a recent hit’ I thought sadly as I continued to plod on. Then its tail moved and I realised I was there just seconds after it must have been hit. With no thought for the time of my run being affected (I am told a serious runner stops for nothing) I dashed out and swept up the little form which was tumbling helplessly from the wind caused by another passing car. It was like grasping a warm breath in my hands. So light I was sure I could only feel it because I could see it. All I felt was the heat emanating. It was in its very last moments, there was nothing to be done, I knew it would die but I couldn’t bear for it to pass away on the damp road crushed under unceasing wheels, its perfect form destroyed. I hoped that its last seconds in my warm hands with me talking nonsense to it and smoothing its feathers would have allowed it to drift away aware that someone had cared about its life. Ok I realise that a bird would not have such thoughts, so maybe it was really just a comfort for me. I stood in the drizzle at the side of the road looking down into the tissue in my hands where the bird lay. To passing cars I must have looked as though I was looking sadly at the outcome of a particularly harrowing nose blow. Until I watched this bird die, it was an unknown creature, without identity in the world of humans; just another little blur flitting to and fro within the landscape. Suddenly now it was under a spotlight, my own little spotlight of awareness. He was, at this moment the most important little being to me and I couldn’t bear to leave him half buried in slimy leaf litter and empty coffee cups and go running on. I swaddled him carefully in tissue and zipped him safely in my pocket, running extra smoothly and with elbows protectively extended to protect my precious cargo from any would be cadaver robbers on my route. As I ran homewards my normally repetitive and bothersome thoughts about ex boyfriends, ex jobs, the minutiae of my life that irritated like an itchy washing instruction label were all gone. The death of this tiny, seemingly insignificant creature had interrupted and erased all of my self destructive thoughts. It had surely never during its life wielded such power. (How do I know this? Perhaps he had been a much revered and admired pillar of the community in the hedgerows of Hertfordshire.) I could still feel his warmth against my side. The fantasist seven year old in me toyed with the idea that maybe it had just been concussed and the movement and warmth of my body would act like a giant defibrillator and revive him. I would unzip my pocket and out he would burst, shreds of tissue in his wake with a thank you flyby for good measure. I arrived home to find that my tiny bundle had cooled, and stiffened. I felt a macabre urge to record him on memory card. Was I being strange? Heartless? Are compulsions like this just the beginning of a pattern that might lead to pulling wings off daddy log legs and shooting at cats with dried peas before finally having my parents stuffed and mounted in a huge taxidermy squirrel display?! No, not macabre I decided. I want to remember the tiny being whose death I had felt in my sweaty palm. I want to catapult him to Flickr fame. If he had to die by windscreen ahead of his time then let him live on in Flickr, immortal, the most recognised coal tit on the internet! I continue to run with eyes ever peeled for those bodies in the road that can be saved. I also look for the cardboard box full of abandoned kittens that I shall rescue from imminent death and tuck safely into my leggings as I run home face and pants filled with kitten joy. Let us form a group celebrating the lives of those ill fated creatures whose decayed ignored bodies hold our roads together!

"Every artist dips his brush in his own soul, and paints his own nature into his pictures." ~ Henry Ward Beecher ~ -- With the "tagging" thing that has been going around (sort of like a virus? :), I have been thinking a lot about what qualifies as a SP shot. I've seen people who are very comfortable posting photos of themselves...some who post almost nothing but photos of themselves. And I know others who will never post a photo of themselves. Most people fall somewhere in between. To each their own is how I feel....variety is what keeps the world an interesting place. But if you think about it, nearly everything we upload tells something about ourselves. What we like and dislike. Our thoughts and feelings. Our heart and soul. Perhaps something we are going through or how we feel on a given day. Our work is a part of who and what we are and whether or not our "face" appears, it still tells about "us" to those who view it, or at least those who are sensitive and are willing to spend a little time reading the story. Take my photo here for example: I turned out my pockets and took a shot of a number of the objects. First there is my coffee money - people who know me, even just a little, know that I like my coffee. I stop nearly every morning at "Cool Beans", the best little coffee shop on the planet, and buy a cup. Yeah, I could (and do) make coffee at home, but I'm doing my part to help the owner stay in business. Besides, Janette makes better coffee than I do! Second, you see a heap of zip ties. My desk tends to be a little messy (ok, maybe more than just a little!) but the insides of computers and other wiring projects I work on are neat and very organized. So I keep a few of these in my back pocket where they are always at hand to keep various things in their place. Then you have the USB drive and extension. That (along with the zip ties) tells you I am a bit of a "techie" - there are several files and programs I carry with me. And I have a lot of photos on this. Current projects I'm working on. A slide show from my trip to the ocean last fall. Stuff like that. And then there is the small tool. I love tools. I probably have more tools than I need, but not as many as I want! Finally, there is the inclusion of the pocket lint...does that tell you anything about my sense of humor? ;~)