I can I know

A bird crashed into my window this morning, at full speed.

I saw it through the corner of my eye, a blackish blur, flying then falling. I heard it, the heavy thud against the glass, seemingly disproportionate to the small bird sitting there stunned on the ground.

I watched him for a moment, quickly googling “what to do when bird crashes into window.” The internet told me I could scoop him up into a dark box and call a wildlife center, but this is Bali, and that didn’t feel like a wise idea. I didn’t want to stress him out even more.

It also told me that if the bird is simply stunned, it will usually recover and take off again on its own within 30 minutes or less.

This little guy was clearly alive. All was not yet lost.

I sat on the floor of my room, watching the bird through the window as he sat underneath the wooden bench on my balcony, where he had fallen, slowly shaking his head back and forth, back and forth. I was glad he was already in a darkish, covered spot, and not smack in the middle in the sunlight.

I spoke to him through the window, quietly, taking care not to make any sudden movements so as not to scare him into trying to take off again before he was ready.

We were only inches apart, him and I, separated by a wall and the thin sheet of clear glass that had tried to end his life.

“You’re gonna be ok,” I told him, “Please be ok.”

“You rest until you’re ready, and then you get up and fly again.”

“If you stay here, the monkeys or the cats will get you.”

I was crying.

The last thing I wanted to do today was witness death. The thought filled me with all kinds of sadness. There was nothing I could realistically do. “Just please be ok, little bird.”

After five minutes he was looking noticeably better. Not shaking so much. Standing up taller on his little pink twig-like birdie feet. He took a step, changed positions. I cheered him on. “You got this!”

“You’re gonna fly again!”

I switched on my phone’s camera. My little friend lifted his wings and took off for a quick moment, landing on the metal balcony railing just feet away. I got up off the floor.

I watched him look around. Survey his surroundings. Consider his options. Consider his own strength.

I opened my door to say goodbye.

He flew off into the palm trees, into the sky, tail and wings flapping beautifully. Alive and recovered.

I did not witness death today.

Today, I witnessed life, and the ability to overcome.

Today, I shed tears, actual tears, for the little grey-brown bird with the black and white tail feathers and pink legs who I’d never met before. I felt intense compassion for this living being who was hurt. I wanted to protect him, to keep him safe from the bigger guys while he was down, and most of all I just wanted to see him fly again.

I wanted everything to be ok and I was powerless to ensure that it would be. That is hard. The only thing I could do was hope, and be there with him as it happened.

Sometimes everything is not ok.

Sometimes, it is.

Today, I got to experience both.