This is in memoriam of the poor bird I hit with my car yesterday, driving home from work. It wasn't this exact type, but it looked like it.
I hadn't hit any animals before this- I almost wish it had done some damage to my car because then I could be angry with it. But it didn't- it didn't even die immediately. It lay there, twitching and trying to fly, but unable.
And I felt awful. A terrible pit settled in my stomach. I felt horrible that I had been the one to cause this little bird pain, pain which would probably end its life.
Part of me wanted to cry. Part of me wanted to take it home and try and nurse it back to health. But realism told me that's a movie thing, that I wouldn't even know what to do. So I left it. I still feel some regret at that decision.
I recognize that a lot of people enjoy it, but I could never be a hunter.
I can't even brush off the fall of a sparrow.
"Are not five sparrows sold for two farthings, and not one of them is forgotten before God?" Luke 12:6