20 May

I arrived to teach a class.
Meg was covering an injured young BlueJay chick with a large cardboard box, for protection.
I remembered.
I remembered the time
I returned a small baby BlueJay chick to its nest.
I remembered how, over a period of a week, I did it numerous times.
I remembered the chick had no plume covering on its bottom, and I called it Bare-Bottom.
I remembered how I would go out to look for it on a hunch, and found it almost every time.
I remembered how I cupped it in the palm of my hands to protect it so the small hard twigs did not mangle its soft fuzzy body.
I remembered how the adult Jays trusted me.
I remembered how I found Bare-Bottom one morning dead,
lying on the hard sidewalk,
its oversize beak open wide, looking like a Physician during the Plague.
I remembered how sad it was.


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