warmth in my cradled and tear-stained hands

on way back from canadian opera company's production of peter grimes, one of my favorite operas, i walked by a bird on ground.

then i walked back to see if i saw it right- birds dont usually stay on ground this time of the night in busy streets?

alas, it mustve hit the eaton centre building (the end closer to city hall and the court building)...

i understand that many birds do die crashing in to the building. ive seen a few. except, this little wee one, was still moving a bit, breathing hard and slow, wings twitching.

bunch of teenagers passed by, ah so sad. whatever, it's probably fine. gross, is it dead?

i picked it up and i didnt know what to say- im sorry, little bird, im no soothsayer, im stuck. i dont even know what i could offer you.  i dont even know what to do with you-

in the opera, peter grimes, at the end, takes his boat out and sinks it. there's no mention of what happened to him.  and when people saw that boat was sinking, there was only a small speculation about the 'boat,' but not of peter grimes.

somehow, the bird was also leaving this world, quietly, without any acknowledgement from the watching public.

i broke in tears. i walked with it slowly fading away in my cradled hands.  and by the time i was near home, it was no longer moving. still warm.

i found some weekly newspaper box. found a clean-ish page and wrapped it and decided to leave it in the lidded garbage receptacle- so that other animals wont chew on it.  of course, it must be part of the cycle, however, while i had watched it leave, i couldnt leave it out.

what a fragile world we live in. oh heartbreaks.

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