Dear Blue Tit,
They unfortunately flew [into the glass].
Several hundred million each year ... what a number!
Reflections can be dangerous things.
Several hundred million each year ... what a number!
Reflections can be dangerous things.
Distorted in mirrors and windows, they lost their sense of self and came crashing to the ground.
Is it an omen? Or just a reminder, lest we become distracted by fleeting glimpses of unreality?
Is it an omen? Or just a reminder, lest we become distracted by fleeting glimpses of unreality?
