The tiny bird is sitting on the beach.
We’re at one of the swimming ponds within cycling distance of our house. The beach is full of kids on some kind of school break, their parents, and us.
The bird is small, fresh out of the egg small, and opening and closing its mouth in that way small animals do to break your heart into a thousand pieces.
Neither of us knows what to do. It’s clear that without intervention this smol thing won’t last the evening.
I walk out to the main parking area with the official-looking building and try and find help. It’s a strange warren of locked doors and front desks. Everything looks like the entrance to something else.
I finally talk to some park people on bikes. After I describe the situation one says, well, it’s probably going to die. The expression on my face must be one of shock or horror, because he then goes onto explain that the bird is, like, in nature? And if they went around saving every animal who was in the wrong place nature would sort of lose its naturalness.
This completely unsatisfying resolution makes a lot of sense. We try and forget the tiny bird.
Naturally...