Little bird

The building that I work in is old. A modernization attempt sometime in the 1950s or 60s resulted in its yellow brick facade being layered over with a metal grid.

Ugly to humans, irresistible to birds.

So, every spring, tiny nestlings fall from their precarious nests and squawk on the sidewalk. And sadly become little fledgling corpses.

Tonight, however, I witnessed one brave little avian soul survive the worst of all odds: Rush hour traffic.

I am waiting for the bus, and hearing a persistent chitter. Yes, it is a baby bird on the sidewalk. It hops toward the curb, away from the building, underneath the sandaled feet of a young man, who slows briefly to ponder this noisy little creature.

It hops further toward the curb and into the street.

It hops, squawking away, all the way across Boulevard of the Allies, pausing briefly under a Jeep, as if under a mother's protective wing.

I dart out briefly in a pause in traffic, trying to redirect it back to the closest point of safety. Fellow patrons of the Port Authority look on in sympathy and mild amusement.

Silly. Little bird is intent on the other side and ignores my directions.

Hop and hop. All the way across, making racket to ward off death by SUV.

All the way to safety and the green grass of the other side.

Little bird, you are a hero!