Slowing down for wildlife

My sister is standing outside the house talking on her phone. As I pull up she stares at the front of my car. We wave hello to each other as I open the door and get out. She is wrapping up her conversation but her gaze is intent on my car. I follow her eyes. There is something stuck in the grill. I walk over and see it is a small bird. I disentangle its cold form from where it has wedged. It is stiff. A scarlet robin, a male, his breast feathers still flaming red in death.

I remember then, the little birds flitting across the country road as I drove through the forest to this family gathering. I didn’t see the colours, didn’t recognise the species. I remember thinking, that must have been close, but there was no shower of feathers, no sign that I had hit one, that a tiny life had ended as I sped past.