Nothing

Rescued

9:00 pm.

A startling squawk and flapping emerge from a shelf in the darkness of the garage. Lights flip on. The small female sparrow looks out from the rim of a box with tired, frightened eyes. Slowly, I make my way down the steps toward her. As expected, she darted off the box and flew high, hitting the ceiling several times before coming to rest on a self piled high with junk on the other side of the garage.

Again, I approach her. Again, she flies, but this time hitting the back wall and sliding down behind the self. Squeezing over the junk on the bottom self, I stare down at her tired, breathless form. No resistance this time. My hand wraps around her, gently lifting her from the dirty floor. Before reaching the door, she's asleep.

I place a peanut butter jar lid of water in the bottom of the cage where the small sparrow now rests, eyes closed and head bobbing. As I turn to walk away, a soft noise comes from the cage. Facing the bird, I listen carefully. There. A slight chidder. She was singing in her sleep. Without hesitation, I take the cage to the bedroom where I set it on the floor, all the time listening to the soft, almost in-audible chirps.

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Rolling over, I gazed at the bird in the dim, foggy light of morning. She was by the edge of the lid full of water drinking. I smiled. I took her to the back deck where she began to flap incessantly, longing to be out. Opening the cage, I quietly guided her out. A flurry of wings and feathers, and before I knew it, she was gone. Free.