Last night my son and I returned home from the grocery store, carrying frozen peas for our chicken and dumplings (will post tomorrow), and we came across a baby bird in the grass. I almost did't realize that it was a baby bird, mostly because it didn't move at all and blended in somehow.
As I got closer, I realized that the bird was so young that he didn't even have the ability to fly or hop away. So, I thought, he's waiting for his close-up (Mr. Demille)!
I dashed inside and retrieved the camera and here is the little dear. I hope that he makes it through the night and nobody bigger and hungrier comes along to meet him.
It occurred to me that when I was younger, I would've begged and cried to be able to bring that bird in the house. I would have laid awake wondering if he was okay and dashed outside first thing to see what happened while I slept. I guess that I've gotten older and have begun to accept that some things are up to nature and fate, if you will.
My son didn't beg or ask to take it inside. I guess either it's a girl thing or perhaps he's more Zen than I am when it comes to letting go. Either way, I am guessing he'll sleep better tonight than I will.