Atlas

Atlas

Gavin Jones

On Friday, March 27th, a bird (later named Atlas) flew into one of the windows of the SMP music room.

Some of the students from Mr. Sierrveld’s seventh period photography class (himself included) and a few others endeavored to safe this bird. They proceeded to wrap the bird in a towel, put it in a cardboard box, and call the vet for direction. I arrived at this scene while Junior Jenna Daneshfar was on the phone with the vet.

“I saw the bird, broke my heart, had everything I needed to care for the bird but I think pressure, shock and too much commotion cause the bird to freak and pass away. I will say its burial was peaceful and helped my heart let Atlas go!” she said about the experience.

Mr. Sierveld was inspecting the birds wings and legs, to check for any broken bones (and Jenna was giving directions about proper care) when they realized it had finally died. The small animal was passed between a few hands, it’s pulse and breathing inspected, and the witnesses concluded that it had moved on. It was at this point we named it Atlas. Obviously, the next step was a burial.

We decided to give it a quick burial right behind the cross (it should be noted that Mr. Sierveld dug the grave surprisingly quickly with some scrap metal he had found). When the hole was deemed big enough, Emily Cormier laid Atlas inside. A few of the girls had gone to pick flowers (while Ben Tyrrell was sent to find Father Montgomery to say a few words for Atlas), and when Atlas was placed properly, I laid some flowers next to him, and the girls continued as well until he was surrounded in a wreath of wildflowers (as seen above).

The small collection of students, Mr. Sierveld, and Father Montgomery stood while the latter gave a proper eulogy for the beautiful bird. In the end, he was covered in dirt and a few more flowers were stuck in the ground, and the scrap metal laid on top of the small mound.

Although Atlas did not live as long as hecould have, he died a relatively quick death and had a heartfelt burial, and as Mr. Seirveld said, “How many birds get a flower wreath funeral?”