So, the work day was done, the weather was lovely, and I was walking home to take a nap. A couple of blocks away from school I saw a bird sitting on a branch – it was a fairly large bird, but it had a cloud of fuzz on it’s head. (‘Bird’s head is so fuzzy, they call him Peach.’ Wait. We’re not supposed to make bird jokes.) Anyway, it was obviously a baby bird that just got kicked out of the nest, because it didn’t try to fly away from me. I decided that this would make a nice enough post, and went to get my camera out of my bag…..
Drat. No camera.
Back to work. Got the camera. Back to the bird, who still hadn’t moved but was now making some pitiful cries. Took the picture. Walked home. Napped.
End of story. Not very good, but they can’t all be winners.
Oh, and for a wonderfully melancholy bird-related song, click here.
Brad says
That’s not a good ending to your story. You should have said something like:
“When I returned, the bird was lying dead on the ground.”
or
“I came back to see the bird being nurtured by its mother.”
or
“I never made it back because I was taken by aliens.”
or
“I had tortured dreams during my nap. I somehow knew the bird was in trouble.”
Lauren says
(You know, that last one was pretty true. I agonized the rest of the walk home about all the sitting
ducksbaby robins getting eaten by cats.)Beth says
But in the contest between writing a more poetic ending and laziness, laziness always wins.
Oh wait…wrong author…
Annette says
Lloyd’s hair is so big they call him, “Peach”?
Lloyd says
Lloyd’s hair jokes are so yesterday.
Annette says
Perhaps, but I consider YOU timeless!
Peggy says
Dang, is that what baby birds look like in Seward?!? I’d hate to see the size of the mother!
http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1301/699750340_e5d88a64a1.jpg
Wait…if I come for a visit, just send one of your momma birds for me.