There is no mistaking the sound of a bird colliding with a window. I didn’t see it happen, but apparently the bird was honing down on an insect and swooped this way instead of that. Mark and the girls flew out of their seats to see what happened.
The poor thing didn’t move a muscle and hardly blinked. Mark picked it up and made a nest with his hand. I stayed inside, content to let my family have this moment to themselves.
It rested there. It’s hard to know if it was frozen in fear or just stunned into silence. As I watched from my side of the window I realized I feel like that bird sometimes – dazed and confused. What day is it? Should I stay or go? What’s happening? What will happen next?
The vast wilderness beyond this safe space seems so big sometimes.
Fortunately it didn’t take long for the bird to regain his senses. He hopped out of Mark’s hand and perched on his finger to get his bearings; catch his breath. A bird is so tiny, practically weightless – a ball of feather and bone that is barely there, but it is. He returned to his world with a blink of eyes bright and focused, never to be seen again.
