So I'm sitting here reading Facebook, and a bird flies in the open front door (it's 75-ish degrees). He lands on a light fixture, then crashes into a window. He's motionless, on the floor, but he's still alive.
I take him out to the porch, a sunny spot, cradling him in my hands. He's flat -- splayed -- then he's upright, testing his legs; then he's down again, but not splayed out. I've snapped two pics of him and I off-load them to my computer. Off-loading is how I discover that it's October 26, my mother's birthday. The bird flies away.
Yesterday, when we were headed to Ocracoke to deposit some of her ashes, the ferry ran aground and took us back to Hatteras. Ashes still in the car.
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