I had a bird dream the night before I set the world I’d known on fire.
Two large owls of indeterminate species were in the upstairs room of my first childhood home (of course, being a dream, it both was and wasn’t the same structure). I was panicking about the safety of some kittens that were in the room with the owls, worried that spooking the birds away would somehow end in catastrophe.
After several stressful minutes, the nocturnal guests took their leave. As they were launching themselves through a side window exit, it appeared that the force of their wingbeats violently blew off the head of an American kestrel perched idly on a nearby tree branch. Horrors.