Crunching my way through the woods,
I am surrounded by crisp silence...
And then, close by, a sound...a whispered sob.
When I find you, you are on the ground, shaking.
When I move toward you, your fear and your exhaustion are at war.
Your exhaustion wins out and you surrender to my hands.

I hold you as if you were as delicate as you are,
careful not to make any sudden movements.
You are wounded...your wing was broken.
It was a gruesome injury...one that has never fully healed,
But that has not stopped you from flying.
You must have felt that injury with every flap of your wings.

Today, you fell from the sky.
The pain was enough to force you to the ground
where I found you..and picked you up.

I rest my back against a tree and slide down to sit on the ground,
still holding you gently...for as long as it takes,
protecting you from the chill of the ground.
transferring every pure thing in me to you, through my hands.

There is nothing that I can do for the injury that you have already suffered.
There is nothing that I can do to ensure that you'll never be injured again.
What I can do is pick you up every time you fall,
and hold you until you've recovered your strength enough to fly again.