There is something so illusive about birds. They can look so fat and soft--one wants to hold them in hand. But in real life such things do not happen except by chance.
Like the day I was summoned by two shrieking parents to rescue their fledgling from the cats. Or the day I found a tiny bird trembling under the dining room table after he'd escaped his foe. He didn't seem to mind when I crawled under the table to gently lift him from the floor. He seemed comforted.
In the open air, he sat for a moment. Looked up at me. And flew away--up and out of my fingers.