The Sparrow

Oh, little one, I am so sorry.

I knew the hunters were airborne when I refilled the feeder, but I didn't know the local hawk was using me as its personal duck blind.

Suddenly the cold didn't matter. I sat on the compacted white mound I'd so meticulously crafted earlier, cupped your still-warm body in my bare hands. I cried, my tears melting tiny holes in the snow bank.

So brave. Even with the damage, you tried calling to your mate, to warn her of the danger. She is safe for now, huddling in the brush with the rest of the flock. I see your hunter hunched in the maple, waiting for me to set you down so he can claim his rightful prize.

I will stay with you till the end.

You can't fool me. I know you no longer feel your body any more, not even the racing of your tiny heart against my fingers.

I keep saying I'm sorry, I'm sorry, over and over. Not my fault, I know, though my bird seed attracted you and your kind, and my window glass dealt the lethal blow.

Your hunter is getting restless. He wants me to stop interfering, set you down and go about my stupid human business. I can hear talons shifting, a rattling fluff of feathers. Puffs of snow drop from a nearby pine and land on rabbit tracks with a soft shushhh.

Your head droops, your eyes glaze. Our breath mingles, freezes. Goodbye, fierce one.