Four days ago I sat in my apartment, and on the fire escape outside my window I saw a white dove. I watched her for some time, pulled out my camera, but quickly realized she could not be captured.
Three days ago I was in Cape Cod and saw a baby bird, too young to be away from its nest. She was hopping across the street through traffic, so I picked her up and placed her by a tree in a garden. I imagined her mother finding her there--I held back tears and rushed away.
Two days ago I was by a pool and found a dead sparrow that was knocked out of its egg by a New England storm.
Yesterday I was in a town called Mystic and fed millet to a bright yellow parakeet that sat perched on my finger.
Today a breeze blows through my window, calling me to look out. I listen to a song called Destiny and the white dove has returned. This time I take notice, this time she looks at me.
While I sit with the slight and familiar discomfort I feel when my child is out walking alone, I know better than to hold onto anything. I know better than to try and capture the breeze, or my child, the past or this moment, or the beauty that sits on the fire escape looking at me.