Our fair city's third-tallest building (by eyeball) got in the way of a rather smallish sparrow this morning.
I was exiting this building with a cup of coffee in my hand (as I sometimes do) when I saw it.
Now, the last twelve hours have seen a bit of rain (as the barometer foretold) and this smallish sparrow was hunkered down on the wet, red granite in from of this tallish building. I'm not an ornithologist, however hard I try. I do know my neighbors and this one didn't look familiar. The cut of the beak, perhaps, or the more densely spotted back.
After absorbing myself completely in watching her for a few minutes to see if she'd fly away, it didn't appear that she would. She didn't even protest as I placed my hand over her warm back and slipped my fingers under her equally warm belly.
There's a little flower bed a dozen feet away with a sheltered overhang into which I placed her.
Still no protest, no visible gratitude. If she was even aware of me, those beady little eyes didn't show it. Or even any signs of being terrified. She graciously accepted the change in location by hunkering further into the little corner she now found herself in. I suppose that's the best kind of gratitude.
Aware now of the people walking nearby and staring, I cut the corner of the Square to my own sheltered overhang, out of the way of this gray and dripping windy weather, taking with me only the memory of this warm softness.
Are not two sparrows sold for a cent? And yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father. But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So do not fear; you are more valuable than many sparrows.
[2008-04-11 16:05] As of this afternoon, she was gone. There was some chirping coming from the bushes, but I didn't get a visual.
