I knew Sadness as an outline, backlit by the sunset. I watched it light upon the top of the hill ahead of me as I was driving home from Hilltop Baptist, and it turned a watchful eye to my approach.
With a soft "thoomp", I drove over it. A puff of feathers shot out from the back of my car, like so much grass out from a lawnmower, and I, with sadness in my heart and Sadness' blood on my hands and car, failed to notice the stop sign ahead - I ran a stop sign at 50 mph on a country road.
Oh foul bird, that you would ignore me, that you would fail to fly from my hurtling machine! May you live on as the patron saint of the mourning doves, Sadness!
*[mph]: miles per hour