When I find them, which isn't often. I bury the nearly weightless little bodies in the shade garden, usually at the base of the peony, the with the pink blooms as big as your face, or next to one of the grander foxgloves...it's peaceful there in that garden. This particular finch hit the window on a windy day, I remember the sound. I looked for it and didn't see it. I always look for them when I hear the crash. For a week or so it remained shrouded by a large oak leaf. I picked the leaf up to photograph it, and there he was. He's planted by the peonies now with two bluebirds and a cardinal for company.
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