Bird

Walking to my car in the parking deck, there is something on the concrete. It is a featherless bird, fallen from the nest. He is still breathing and I lay him on a bit of cloth on the car seat next to me. The little guy barely moves but swallows water from my fingertip. I know there will be no miracles … yet hope abounds. The little bird lies still, breathing his tiny breaths. I fix a little box for the trip home, a long way it will be, highway miles, and I imagine that we fly, this bird and I.