A Bird In The Hand.

We don’t leave the balcony open after sundown. Mumma is terrified of lizards, and there’s always one camped out by the door. Still, Puppa goes out for a smoke every now and then. Forgetful bugger, he always leaves the door open. One such evening, I’m walking over to pull it shut when a bolt of brown darts across the room. I don’t know what the hell has just shot past my face, but a faint chirp from the kitchen gives it away.

I fetch the ladder and climb up to investigate. There, hiding atop the cabinets, is a little lump of feathers – it’s a sparrow. Not an adult, mind you. She’s a tiny little thing, too young to know that flying into people’s houses isn’t the brightest idea. She could use some help, but the trick with animals is to win their trust, and it’s particularly tricky with birds. Me? I’ve never been so close to a bird that wasn’t in a cage. They’re a bit like squirrels in that regard; you can never get too close.

So I cup my hands and lay them down about eight inches away from her, just so she gets used to my presence. It’s taking a while, and I’m feeling a crick in my back from being sandwiched between the ladder and the ceiling. Nevertheless, my hands must remain still. Slowly, they inch closer. To her, I’m a giant. I don’t know how I’m going to pick her up, if at all. She’s quicker than I am, so I can’t make any sudden moves. If I spook her, she could end up hurting herself quite badly.

But then, she does something that catches me completely off-guard. I feel the soft prick of talons upon my fingertips and before I know it, this ball of fluff has sat itself down on my palm. I freeze.

This little soul is in an unfamiliar place, in the shadow of a colossus. The hands she has climbed into could crush the life out of her without a second thought. But who could ever punish such disarming trust with anything less than steadfast responsibility? My thumbs close over her shivering body. We’re not moving for a little while after. She’s covered in darkness, but the shivering stops eventually. I suspect it’s the warmth of my hands – she’s snuggled up now. I descend backwards making sure each step is light enough to not startle my precious cargo. 

For 20 seconds between the ladder and the balcony, she shows no resistance. On the final stretch, I step outside being doubly careful not to ruffle her feathers. My hands open, assuming she’ll fly out as swiftly as she flew in. She doesn’t. She spreads her wings, pauses for a moment, and lifts off into the night. I remember it like it was yesterday. This must be what it’s like to have a kid.