I am starting with the poem. I have posted it a couple of times before but it really resonates with me. When I first discovered it in my favourite place I egotistically believed it had been put there just for me. After all, it is only me that should be there.
So after feeling the peace of the wild things time and after time and experiencing their healing restorative power I hope to have given a little back today.
The kids and I were just ready to head home after spending the afternoon at my mum and dads. As I went outside to call on Angelina I saw she was upset at the far end of the row of front gardens where she had been playing with her little friend. Sighing and expecting some “falling out” had occurred I reluctantly stomped ( yes stomped- how old am I?) over. As I got closer I saw her crumpled face and that she was pointing to the ground at the end of the path. I looked down. What is that? At first I thought it was a frog but on closer inspection saw that it was a baby bird. It was flailing around on the ground, gasping and looked not long for this world. My dad came over and just stared, shook his head and said, ‘ Don’t think it’s alive. What can you do?’.
What can you do? It was breathing albeit weakly but I knew I couldn’t just leave it to die there or have the local cats feast on it. Everything I asked anyone to do ended up being like a sodding Keystone Cops scene. My mum made such a palaver out of sourcing a number for the RSSPB ( plus complaining that it was £2.58 per minute) that I lost the rag and started barking orders at people. I went into Super Medic mode. I managed to contact a bird person in no time and they advised me what to do and said someone would be on their way. One hot water bottle, soft bedded box and sugar water syringe later he was breathing quite shallow but still alive. Here he is:
I sat with him for almost an hour. Keeping him warm, trying to entice him with drops of the sugar water. On a couple of occasions I honestly thought he had gone but after a while, as he warmed up his breathing became stronger and he started to move more. Eventually the “bird” woman arrived. She picked him up in her blue gloved hands where he instantly opened his beak and squawked a tiny sound. She assured us he would be fine but if I hadn’t of done what I did he wouldn’t have made it. She said he was a starling and probably about 3-5 days old. She was going to take him where he will be hand reared before setting him free. The kids agreed to call him “Polly” and off he went in his new cosy cardboard box to enjoy some milk and cat food. Apparently they love it. Poor bird. Not only does he have a girls name he’s also eating another species ( and mortal enemies) food.
I felt a little pang of emotion afterwards. Who the hell am I trying to kid? I felt a big pang!! Wherever you are Polly I hope you fare well and grow up strong, not confused and have a wonderful bird life. If your little wings take you to my favourite place among the wild things stop by the woman sitting glowering at other humans and remind her how truly special life really is.
Nighty night x
Ps 54 days