Where Do They Go

You see them everywhere, sometimes countless in number, winged, walking or wading, running the gauntlet of waves, filling the air. Birds populate the planet, make their home in trees, buildings, on grassy paddocks, icy continents and clinging to the craggy heights of cliffs. So many. But where do they go to die. We see only a few as roadkill or the odd one decomposing under a bush. Where are the others?. Surely death should be more visible in their ranks, parklands dotted with those that have fallen dead from the sky or a branch. More washed up on a beach. You would think their remains would be everywhere in plain sight. But no. It's as if the dead slip through a portal and into the unseen, leaving no trace. Or maybe the earth simply claims and disposes of them in haste out of respect. Or do they find somewhere inaccessible, hidden from view, a place to pass away and leave the human mind to wonder why the bodies of the avian dead seem to number so few.