this small one is still calling loudly. i can't satisfy it. it has tiny downy feathers clinging to the big bird feathers. it is calling now, and i don't know how to help. the rain falls and it wants home. or something i am unable to interpret. there are many birds here. maybe it will survive.
wendy was greatly worried, and a wee bit scared of this powerful little person. so am i.
i made acquaintance with maple leaves, reddened with a rust or canker of some sort. eco printed on old sheeting wrapping a steel pipe, with a touch of vinegar in the hot water bath. india insists we look locally for color (colour!) maple so defines the north country.
a student's gift to me: his first welds on steel.
the color changed after leaving the dyebath, then drying, and now awaiting the hot iron and in a few days a final wash. strong, deep purples have vanished, and a blush of ochre and peach make an appearance.
for me the responsibility of living with animals, and next door to animals is always fraught with anxiety. i used to remove and apologize to every road-killed animal i found. it was uphill work. this little bird still calls. i wish it luck, but my intervention can do no good; i am untrained in how to help. i gave it to the rosa rugosas, the arbor vitae, the other birds close by. better than on the grass where the neighbors' cat will kill it. she, however, is single minded. kill, eat, survive. i am too far removed from these pure motivations. the bird is now silent. robins are singing. i am hopeful.