Today a bird flew into a window while I was a work. I found it laying on the ground gasping for air and immobile. I picked it up and gently placed it in the palm of my hand. I ran my fingers over the soft feathers of his chest, willing life back into his almost-still body. I tried to place him on his tiny, two feet, but he fell over onto his side and silently opened and closed his beak in protest. I was overwhelmed with sadness. I set him on the table, on his side, watching him, praying for him not to die. I rubbed his back with my index finger, hoping that a little love would bring him to his feet again. Minutes later, he hopped up on his two feet, but still refused to move off of the table. He sat with his eyes closed, breathing rapidly. I took drops of water from a cup and let them fall into his open mouth. Recover. Recover. Recover. Finally, he found the strength to fly away.
Recover. Recover. Recover.
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