A Bird in the Hand

A bird flew into our house.  She was throwing herself against the window, a fluster of wings and beak.

I watched her, waiting for her to land on the windowsill, for however briefly she might rest her wings.

She let me pick her up.

I cupped my hands around her.  Her feet folded underneath her and into my palms.  I could feel her whispery heartbeat tapping against my fingertips.

I carried her outside and I opened my hands.  I felt her take flight, her gentle lift off.

I’m pretty sure that was a gift to me.