Friday evening, people gathered to remember Martha.
She was a star in her day. Scarlet eyes and peach-colored breast. Head held high.
Toward the end of her life, people lined up to see her — a glimpse for the ages.
But a hundred years ago Monday, Martha died alone, like she’d been waiting for the room to finally clear. A stroke, they say. She was 29, or somewhere around there.
For passenger pigeons, flight from abundance to extinction was short | The Kansas City Star
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