Bird

It was raining hard outside and the world seemed silvery and green; we were sitting on the floor in Genevieve’s living room enjoying the warmth of a wood burning stove and catching up on one another’s lives. Suddenly we were startled by the loud thump of a bird hitting the windowpane. Donna and I looked out to investigate and saw the bird lying inert on the deck.

It was a small gray bird, undistinguished but for bits of yellow on its crown and throat and beneath its wings; its feathers were already ragged and wet, and I was certain that it was dead but Donna refused to leave it in the rain. She cloaked herself in her purple raincoat, grabbed a stiff envelope from a kitchen countertop, and stepped outside into the downpour. She gently slid the envelope under the bird’s body in order to drag it to a more sheltered place out of the rain, then cried out in surprise as the bird, who had been lying on its side, righted itself and stood up, though still dazed and immobile. We didn’t see it fly away, but a few minutes later it was gone.

We were absurdly jubilant.

(Note: This little blog entry was written about fifteen years ago but never got posted. I decided to run it now because it was a sweet little incident, and a good reminder not to give up too soon even when something looks hopeless.)