another titw tomas las

oh little blue green bird, little scrap of life. I cannot find how this one or the one yesterday got in. This time it hits the window so hard it falls to the floor. I hold it in my hands to keep it warm, I feel the aliveness. I sit on the window sill and slowly open my hands. Eventually it gets up, it sits beak open. It starts to look around. After about ten minutes it flies to the apple tree. Its right eye has been hit rather hard.

a bird in the hand

A bird lies dead on the pavement. It seems all wings, a hint of head. Wings that are spread wide but with no flight in them; they rest on asphalt not on air. Those lightweight honeycomb bones to no advantage now on the ground. Perhaps the wind, a sharp breeze, may lift the little body a last time.


Earlier I held a blue titmouse in my hand; I opened the window, slid my arm out and opened my hand. It stood there a little time, then flew to the big apple tree.