Winter in a sparrow

A little sparrow often flutters in, while I am on my laptop. She gets precariously busy instantly, chirping rapidly across the room. I switch off the fans, when she gets thus excited, and leave her some bread on the window-sill, which is devoured by crows, but never gets to her. But she never complains. All she does, is she chirps, and gives me happy company, without a word. Ideal. Perfect. She never flies to any other part of the house. I know, that sparrow, is a she, because she chirps, in rhythm. She is so much like me. I am so much like her. But she like being quiet. Just like me.

Today, when I woke up, my mother, motioned me to a soft little lump, in one corner of our hall. Under the large windows, I couldn’t first place, what it was. So much light. And below, lay a sparrow, dead, a little spot of shadow, under the large windows of light. The little sparrow, had not a sign of injury on her body. Her eyes were open, but not in pain. I stroked it's head. I had always wanted to touch her,feel her, but she flew away, even if I budged from my place. Today I picked her up, and placed her carefully aside, to be buried. She did not retaliate today. 

Whenever she lost her way in,thus to my room, on purpose, I always imagined her chirping, I always imagined it coded a message for me.

Now, I’ll never know, what it meant.

Todays morning, is a hope for winter, in the middle of an uncharacteristically hot October. Winter is setting in perhaps. The sparrow was cold.I feel cold.