A robin committed suicide today- dead against my living room window pane; flying fast in chilly mid-November; perhaps heading south.

The sound; wings flapping and then a thump!

He went straight to ground. 

He should have missed the house, it's large, the window is below the roof, he was not flying blind or forgot to look.

Like a jet with no flaps down, he hit the window full-throttle;probably cracked his crown; I got up, took a look expecting him to fly or stir but he didn't move below; lay quiet.

I went down to see.Robin; older, neck awry didn't stir, didn't move.I touched him.

Neck broken. Instant Death. Instant Oblivion, 
I looked  for mourners. There were none.

This Robin was solo in Death as we all are; on his own.

It didn't seem fitting to conduct a garbage-can burial;  I said a few words, cursed, and decided to bury him in dirt. 

Picked him up by his tail plumage took him to the back yard; dug a shallow grave, mumbled something; lay him down in there; patted the top of his dirt pyre- my good deed done.

A dead robin in my yard, by my window undone.
But, I was thinking was he really a deliberate suicide? 

There were  clues. How can a Robin miss a big house, there must be more hints to this dead Robin mystery.

Perhaps he was an old Robin, diseased, disoriented by Alzheimer's, or some bird pandemic; could have been a bird fight he fled. 
The Crows around here are criminals and rough; the Robin could have been bested in a West Side Story Bird Fight.

I rose to look for myself; to look for clues to Robins' death, not content for the time being to dismiss it lightly as dumb bird lost.

So... from Robin's height my window pane looks straight on through the house, out through the back windows and out into the trees in my backyard.

Ah ha; Robin's keen eyes could have been looking at my backyard trees, flying straight and hard, not seeing the window pane. Blam and there you are-
an explanation which made some sense; Robin in seeing his destination could not see what was right before him.
Death with painful irony-- his grave lay beneath those trees he was so intent to reach.
Dead Robin flying fast, gaze fixed upon his own death. How Shakespearean.

I think final destinations, as in where we will die: 
inside hospitals,on the road, in a plane. For most of us this is unknown.

My robin could see his own demise; the means to him were clear and unclear; my window, both opaque and transparent was right there before him.

Ah, again how Shakespearean.
A Robin causality. 
Wonder if he had kids.