Wounded

Standard

It was almost elegant — the way you stretched your wing

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But I knew you were injured — poor little thing

While reading in the quietness of the early morning, I heard a thunk on the window and knew that a bird had hit the glass.

I peeked out. Sure enough, a little grey-brown bird lay stunned on the deck. It righted itself and sat for a few minutes before testing each wing.

As it hopped around, I wished I could do something to help, but I remembered my mother’s advice for every injured animal I brought to her — which was a lot. Baby birds that had fallen from their nests. Baby rabbits that appeared to be orphaned.

“Leave them alone,” she would say.

I learned to follow her advice.

When I looked out an hour later, the bird was gone.

I’m hoping it flew to safety.

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