I knew you would get it to touch it this very injured, bruised bird. I knew that your senses would be alert, your precise and sweet gestures.
We fed it for two days, with a syringe without knowing what to put in it. This morning I decided to bring him to the LPO so that they take care of him.
You found him a house in the shelters of our cats, our old mailbox had sheltered the baby chicks during the first confinement. The life that bubbed as everything was stopped was crazy to see them grow and then leave us.
We fed him I said and one evening when we were going to visit him before going to bed he was on his paws, daring, the big open beak. We cajolized him, nourished and put back in the nest left by the chickadees, he fell asleep there while Coco still watched how to catch this little piaf plump.
She couldn’t. Safety in his old mailbox, he died in the night.
The next day the sorrow followed purple at school. He was again in the evening around his eyes reddened to have cried quietly in his bed.
We talked as always, she wanted to know how he was going to become from now on. She asked direct questions and I answered it as always without detour.
It’s just the story of a ten -year -old girl who did not fear death, the small soft and damaged bodies. But to whom the sorrow capped the heart, the senses and the soul.
We will think of you little game. With your little head too beautiful and your stripping skull.
We wanted to save a life, we failed. We grew up …
If you want to read a little more, I invite you to look at this post that talks about reading.
I kiss you.
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