A slightly happier Monday

There she was - a small yellow bird, looking ever so tiny on the black asphalt street. Now I can easily conjure up her image as listless, jaded, mourning a loss or even suicidal, but avian facial expressions have never been my forte.

Not that I have never seen a bird sitting on a street, but usually they comply with the norms of bird-hood, and fly away for dear life at the approach of danger in the form of a lumbering being. But this particular feathered friend - a Finch - didn’t flinch at all, even when my heavy boot came within a few inches (few feet actually) of it.
This puzzled me no end. I tried various tactics to make it fly to safety. Stomped around noisily, approached it from the front and even waved my hands about to shoo it away, but all to no avail. She just sat there, as if bent upon giving me the silent treatment.

Now, had this been a low-traffic pedestrain walkway, I could have just let her be. Nobody would accidentally or intentionally cause harm to a tweety bird look alike would they? But she actually sat near the entry-way to a parking ramp. Pretty soon, a couple hundred cars will try to enter the ramp, trying to secure a spot.
I was alarmed. There had to be a way to get her off the street.

I stooped down, precariously balancing my lunch bag and coffee cup and offered my black notebook, to her, hoping that she would hop onto the magic carpet laid out before her, so she could swiftly be transported to safety. But she wouldn’t budge. By now I could see more cars approaching and realized that something needed to be done, and soon.

Gingerly I brought a finger forward and touched the side of her frail body gently, and at the same time, began to entertain the quite disturbing notion that I would have to pick her up between my fingers to save her life. But what if my brutish handling crushed her delicate body? I cringed at the thought.

Now would be the perfect time for any one of the myriad feminine people in my life to show up for the rescue. I have always found women to be very excellent in all matters pertaining to rescue, rescucitation and revival of all kinds of little beings. But alas, time and distance separated all of them from the current situation. I realized uneasily that this was something that I would have to handle on my own. I couldn’t walk away either as I was much too involved in this.

A stroke of genius!!! I knew why she didn’t climb on my notebook to ride to safety. The beastly thing was too high for her, being all of half an inch thick. I understood it all too perfectly now. In my epihpany, I tore a page from the notebook and tried to slide it under the bird's feet.
What happened next caught me completely by surprise. I was expecting the same stoic and static response from her, but just as the paper touched her little feet, she hopped up and flew straight into my legs covered by jeans. As she flailed and flapped around, startled, I also did the fleet-footed tap dance of the bumbling oaf.

It was providential intervention that saved the little thing and it finally settled down on a spot not too far away from its original perch.
As my nerves calmed, I had a surge of confidence. I had at least managed to evoke some kind of a reaction from the bird. Repeating this, maybe I could direct her to a safe spot, assuming that I didn’t panic into another elephant stampede in the process. I curved the paper until it looked like a kind of sail and using the lower edge of it, I nudged the feet of the bird again. This time however, Miss Finch nonchalantly flew away to the safety of some bushes on the street-side, like it was the most natural thing to do.

I was a bit perplexed that the situation suddenly resolved so simply, and yet was thoroughly relieved at the outcome.
I stood there for several seconds, to ensure that she was staying put in the bushes and wasn’t actually planning to resume her suicidal quest.

She stayed put. At least as long as I watched.