A Bird in the Hand

I had the most amazing experience today.

I’ve been feeding the birds on my patio for a few weeks now. Today, one flew into the window, knocking the wind out of its sails. I found it lying on its back breathing heavily. I went outside and picked it up. It just sat there in the palm of my hand looking at me, occasionally closing its eyes.

I tried to get it to fly, but it just wasn’t ready for that. So I called my mom for advice — she’s really good with birds.

She told me to protect it and put it someplace warm. So I found a box, lined it with washrags and put the bird inside. I covered the box with a cloth and put it on the counter in the kitchen. I heated up a lulu (a bag of beads for applying heat to sore backs) and set that next to the box to keep it warm.

I checked in on the bird every once in awhile. After about two hours, it looked like it was feeling better — it peeped at me when I looked in on it and spread its wings. I picked up the box and took it to the sliding glass door.

I took the cloth off the box and opened the door.

Without encouragement, the bird flew out of the box, across the street and toward a tree in a neighbor’s back yard.

That bird was so precious. And weighed next to nothing. And it would look at me as I held in with the same expression my dog does when I lay her on her back to groom her belly.

It didn’t seem frightened. In fact, it almost looked like it was just going to trust me.

Mom said it probably just liked the heat from hand. But I still like to think that, at least for a moment, I had a connection with a wild bird.