This morning, three birds flew into the Airstream, flapped around inside for a short while, and then flew out again…all except for this little sweetie who needed some help finding the exit once more. I was reminded of the time we lived in the Layfield house here in the Methow Valley and woodpeckers and starling used to fly down the chimney and needed to be rescued from the fireplace — scooped up carefully in my hands, walked to the french doors on the back porch and released into thin air and spooling light.
I like to think I summon these small things to myself, from time to time, when I need a little flight, when I’ve been craning my neck to bite at my own shoulder blades trying to bring my wings to the surface, to bursting, to full span so I can find the wind once more.