My Friend Writes Like This

A bird hit my windshield on the freeway, on the way home from work this morning. I pulled over on the next exit, and picked it’s wrecked body out of my windshield wiper, and it opened its eye, and slowly closed it. I like to think that it opened its eyes one more time, and thought it was in a nest, or playing in the trees, because I put it in a little cup of leaves not too far up off the ground, but facing the dawning horizon, where any minute the first rays of warmth will soon be greeting it, waking it to fly away. ~ Tim Cooper