In 2024, my friend and I took a road trip from Stockholm to Bergen, Norway. The journey lasted 11 days, and during that time we stayed in five different places. Because most of the route runs through forests, mountains, and wide open landscapes, apartments made the most sense. We also spent one night in a small cottage, surrounded by nature.
It was one of those trips where you are constantly driving through scenery that feels unreal. Water everywhere. Endless trees. Long roads where you barely meet another car. The kind of trip that feels calm on the surface, but also strangely intense.
The First Bird at the Border
Our first apartment was just past the Swedish–Norwegian border. It was an old house in the woods, quiet and a little isolated. We arrived excited, tired, and happy to finally stop for the night.
My friend went to the door to get the keys from a small lockbox on the wall. As he typed in the code, I looked down without any real reason. Right there, by my feet, was a large black dead bird.
I remember the image so clearly. The feathers. The stillness. How out of place it felt. But I ignored it. I did not say much, and I brushed it off.
Oslo and the Second Encounter
The next day, we continued driving and stayed in another apartment just outside Oslo. Again, a familiar routine. We arrived, parked, grabbed our luggage. This time, the key was hidden under a stone near the door.
As I walked toward the entrance, I saw it again. Another dead bird, black and yellow, lying under a small tree by the house.
That was the moment it really caught my attention. Once might be random, yes, but twice, in two different places, started to feel uncomfortable.
Relief That Did Not Last
Our third stay was closer to Bergen. When we arrived, I almost held my breath walking to the door. Part of me was already expecting it.
There was nothing. No bird. No strange sight. I felt actual relief.
The next morning, as we were leaving, I went to clean the car lights because they were covered in insect remains. When I bent down, my stomach dropped. A dead bird, or rather pieces of it, were stuck right under the license plate.
Three dead birds in five days!
The Symbolism of Dead Birds
Symbolically, birds are linked to movement, freedom, and communication. Across cultures, they are often seen as messengers, moving between different spaces. They fly. They travel. They connect.
When a bird is dead, the symbolism flips completely. Movement stops. Freedom is interrupted. What usually represents travel, communication, and flow becomes a sign of obstruction. Messages feel heavier. Progress slows down. Something is blocked, delayed, or cut short.
Dead birds are often seen as omens connected to bad news, interruptions, or warnings about the path ahead. They can point to problems with travel, sudden obstacles, unexpected messages, or consequences that arrive later rather than immediately. Unlike living birds, which symbolize openness and direction, a dead bird draws attention to where momentum breaks down.
In symbolism, this kind of sign usually points to caution, not disaster. It is a sign to slow down. A reminder to pay attention to details that are easy to miss, especially when moving fast or assuming everything is fine. Dead birds as omens often appear before inconvenient information, delays, fines, or messages that interrupt forward movement in some way.
The more I thought about it, the more uneasy I felt. And yet, during the following days as we drove further north through Norway, we did not see any more dead birds at all.
The Fourth One, at the End
On the tenth day, we left Norway and planned to stay one more night in Sweden. The drive back is long and exhausting, and Stockholm is on the opposite side of the country.
We checked into an old apartment that felt more like a farm. Abandoned cars. Old agricultural trucks. Everything slightly neglected and strangely quiet.
After settling in, eating a little, we went for a walk around a nearby lake. We sat on benches, drinking wine and talking. And then, without warning, a dead bird fell from the trees straight into the water in front of us.
I froze. I remember shaking. This was the fourth dead bird during a ten-day road trip.
When we returned home, I kept thinking about it. Not for days, but for weeks. The images stayed with me. The timing. The repetition. The feeling that there was a pattern, even if I could not fully explain it. My friend did not think much of it, so at some point I stopped talking about it. But deep inside, I knew the dead birds were an omen, a message.
What It Meant in Hindsight
Less than two months later, my friend received a letter from Norway. It was about speeding fines and road fees we did not even know about. Tunnels. Major roads. Charges that quietly added up. The final amount was high. Much higher than we expected.
Looking back, all I can think about are the birds. To me, they felt like omens, warnings, very clear ones. Slow down. Pay attention. Be careful.
Birds are messengers, and what arrived later was also a message. A letter. One that was anything but pleasant.
Since then, I no longer ignore signs like that so easily. Even on the road. Especially on the road.
