Filed under: Wildlife
The tail on that young one at the beginning of the week (the other pictures were taken day by day afterwards, but I think the last one’s a parent) caught my attention: it was a fledgling’s version of a sunfish, as if Nature had forgotten to finish the job.
And yet, it works; the thing flew.
And there was this, and I write it with a sense yet again of gratitude to the many on staff at Stanford Hospital and my clinic last year: when I got up yesterday morning, there was a small female finch on the other side of the glass, holding very still in a manner that immediately concerned me. A friend who is a birder has assured me that if you give it a half hour or so to recuperate, one that has struck the window will often be able to pull itself together and fly away.
But I wasn’t sure she was still with us. I got down to get a closer look. We were perhaps two feet from each other, with only the glass that she had just learned about in between.
She slowly blinked. I was so relieved. You know, my pride was wanting to argue with fate and say, hey, I didn’t wash the windows so the birds wouldn’t see their reflections so much and and and–yeah.
The best thing to do, since she was alive, seemed to be to give her some space, then. After what seemed a very long time of looking in each other’s eyes, I slowly, slowly, trying not to be threatening, backed away and moved up and over to the day’s work, about ten feet further away.
I glanced over about five minutes later. She had not only perked up, she had hopped up to the outside of the sliding glass door and was perched there, watching me intently.
I was utterly charmed.
I had looked after her the best I knew how, as ineffectual as I had felt doing so. Even offering her food would have scared her into flying before she was ready; all I had been able to offer her was that she was not alone.
And now she was looking at me.Â She was okay now.Â Waiting for me to see, then making eye contact.
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