I thought getting that book done and scanned would be cathartic, and maybe I would stop seeing everything as being short-lived and absurdly fragile and in a perpetual state of Ending – but then I came home and found this little finch. It appears he flew into the window, knocked himself unconscious, bounced into the water barrel and drowned. Which is ridiculous. He was still warm from the sun when I fished him out. I decided to take photos and make drawings, which is my default response to a corpse, and why I should never work in a funeral home.