Today is my last day filling in at the old office. On my commute this morning, I saw something very strange...a great big dead peacock.
It was on Central Road between River Road and Milwaukee, in the forest preserve area. I mean, I've heard of wild turkeys - I've even been attacked by wild turkeys - but in my numerous years of driving on the north side, I have never seen a large dead peacock. (Amazingly enough.)
Roadkill always makes me sad; it's the tragic consequence of the intersection of technology and nature - and you can guess who usually wins. The little raccoons, squirrels and - yes, peacocks - on the side of the road didn't see it coming, and they didn't understand that cars don't usually brake for wildlife.
However, this seemed even more sad to me than the typical roadkill fare. Peacocks are rare, beautiful, and delicate; when you see something that beautiful that has been destroyed, some part of you mourns. It's the same feeling as seeing a piece of broken, sparkly jewelry, or perhaps a fine oil painting that has been burned, crumpled, or otherwise defaced.
I have no idea how that peacock ended up in a Des Plaines forest preserve, but I do wish it had led some quiet and safe life in the confines of a zoo, where animals that beautiful are revered instead of run over by speeding commuters.
It was on Central Road between River Road and Milwaukee, in the forest preserve area. I mean, I've heard of wild turkeys - I've even been attacked by wild turkeys - but in my numerous years of driving on the north side, I have never seen a large dead peacock. (Amazingly enough.)
Roadkill always makes me sad; it's the tragic consequence of the intersection of technology and nature - and you can guess who usually wins. The little raccoons, squirrels and - yes, peacocks - on the side of the road didn't see it coming, and they didn't understand that cars don't usually brake for wildlife.
However, this seemed even more sad to me than the typical roadkill fare. Peacocks are rare, beautiful, and delicate; when you see something that beautiful that has been destroyed, some part of you mourns. It's the same feeling as seeing a piece of broken, sparkly jewelry, or perhaps a fine oil painting that has been burned, crumpled, or otherwise defaced.
I have no idea how that peacock ended up in a Des Plaines forest preserve, but I do wish it had led some quiet and safe life in the confines of a zoo, where animals that beautiful are revered instead of run over by speeding commuters.
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