Second Chance

I knew what had happened when I heard the “thud”.
The young dove was curled up in the corner of the
patio, wing askew, eyes closed.  Crashing into the large
window, thinking she had an escape route from the
pursuing Hawk, had now made her completely vulnerable
to the predator perched on the metal railing and poised
to drop down onto the bricks for a quick lunch.

When I scooped her up into my hand, Hawk used language
I choose not to repeat.  He was one unhappy Hawk.  He let
me know the state of his mind by screeching and flapping
his usually graceful wings.  He left in a huff.

Dove and I sat awhile in a rocking chair.  I talked about
how nice it will be to fly again.  She slept.  For the better
part of an hour, we rocked and talked and slept.  And
then she shuddered, opened her tiny, black button eyes
and looked at me as if to say, “Ok, now what?  Do I die
or do I dare?”  Because she became a bit agitated, held
in the hand of a giant, I placed her carefully under a
thick bush, out of sight from hungry hawks, and backed
away.  It wasn’t long before a little gray head popped
out of the green leaves, eyes seemed to dart in several
directions, and she jumped into the sky for another day.

It was a happy moment for both of us.
Everybody needs a second chance.