Life and Death on a Snow Covered Deck

From where I sat, reading and wallowing in my flu-induced misery, I couldn't see any of the half-dozen bird feeders that are scattered across my backyard; I could only hear the conversations of the diners. It's a sound I particularly enjoy.

Then a sound I don't enjoy.  The soft thud of a bird flying into glass.  No matter how I mark the doors and windows with clingies and suncatchers, some of my small guests will still try to fly through them.

This one had hit the glass door to the deck.  I had only to look up to see it.  A little sparrow.  Female, based on subtle markings. Stunned, she hopped twice and tried to fly but landed back in the soft snow barely a foot away.  I sat watching, silently urging her to try again.  Two others like her appeared and perched on the railing nearby.  It seemed as though they were watching as well, and urging their companion to join them.  One moved closer, to the snow covered table, but neither ventured down to the deck where the injured one sat. 

I debated with myself, wanting to help, knowing there was little I had to offer.  Time passed.  Her friends flew away and returned several times, but never closer than they had before.  Then, as I watched, she seemed to settled into herself, head sinking down into her feathers, and became very still.  My eyes filled and I felt silly - it was just a small wild bird after all.  I forced myself to think of more practical things, such as going out and picking her up before I let Brandi outside lest my ancient hunter claim the feathered prize and bring it in to me.  

But Brandi was sleeping and there was no hurry.  With a sad sigh, I returned to my book. A bit later, distracted from the story by my need for more tissues, I looked outside.  She was gone.  Wasn't she?  Isn't that the spot where she had been? 

I got up and walked to the door, searching the deck.  She was gone.  And there were no tracks in the snow near where she had been.  I ran through all the possibilities and decided I was safe in my celebration.  She hadn't died.  Stunned from the blow, as they often are, she had rested, recovered, and flown away.  I felt ridiculously, all out of proportion, happy.

Must have been all those cold meds.

Anyone else have an unexpected happy moment latey?

I'm currently reading: Blood Lure by Nevada Barr

Groaner of the Day: (for my good friend in Texas)

When Hugh Hefner had his Playboy mansion, there were a succession of Bunnies that he became involved with. It was a custom for each Bunny to present him with a necktie. Eventually, he had hundreds of them in his closet. When he finally married Kimberly Conrad, she became upset to see all those souveniers from former girlfriends. In a fit of pique, she grabbed them all and threw them at her new husband, which lead to the famous song, "The ties of exes are upon Hugh."