rest well, baby birds

Yesterday morning I walked out onto our patio, which is one story above the street. It’s huge, with grey wooden boards stretching out far from the apartment. On either side are brick buildings that rise one story above the patio. I’d gone out to see what the weather was like; it was sunny and warm and I stretched my arms above my head, so happy to feel the sun on me.

I looked to my right and saw something that looked rubbery. My first thought was that it was a child’s toy, one of those gooey things that you get for a quarter in a machine at the grocery store–when you throw it against a window it sticks. But there was a yellow, sharp spot that didn’t match the rest of it.

I walked closer and realized, with a sudden panic, that it was a baby bird, about three inches long. I ran and got David. We stood looking over it; it was definitely dead. We then found another baby bird three or four feet away. They were so soft looking, but without a single feather–just pale peach, almost translucent skin. And sharp, tiny, bright yellow beaks. The second one’s neck was obviously broken.

We then found a broken egg on almost the opposite side of the deck. It was too tiny to have held either of the birds, and yellow was spilling out from it.

We left the birds, not quite knowing what to do. We left for the day and when we got back one of them was gone. We went to sleep. This morning before breakfast, looking out the window at the pouring rain, we saw that the second one was gone too.

I can’t get the image of them on our deck, fragile and broken with the sun beaming down, out of my mind.

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