Mr. Rook

I came upon a rook today during my post-meditation morning walk. He huddled on the narrow road uphill from me, and seemed to be snacking. When I went by, we made eye contact, but his inky body never moved. There was no food about, only a scatter of feathers.

He could have been stunned, injured, or otherwise, but fear kept me from getting close enough to find out.

My mind immediately cast him in the lead of a contrived drama. His sharp beak and claws made mince of my limbs and eyes. All because I attempted to help, when Mr. Rook was not asking. Nature knows best. That’s what I told myself as I stayed to my side of the road, and kept walking.

I rounded a bend and he was out of sight. But not out of mind. One thought after another pounced. You left him to die. You could have saved him, but you didn’t. My tummy was tense, my breath, uneven. All of which was an acute contrast from the peace I’d felt in my blissful meditation, minutes earlier.

And then a car flew past.

I imagined that moment through Mr. Rook’s perspective—trapped in place as the ground rumbled. The anticipation of anguish. A brutal rush of metal and air inches from his head.

My lips shook and tears threatened. That unique terror, born from a lack of options, was one I knew well. I paused. And breathed in deeply. Then turned and walked back down the hill, around the bend, and my cells exhaled when I saw him again.    

His eyes were closed, he lay on his side, as the black of his breast still rose and fell. We were a few kilometres outside a coastal village too small for An Post. I could not carry him back to my car, let alone to a vet. But I could help him off that harsh pavement.

I found a stick, and one slow breath at a time, approached Mr. Rook. My hope was that he’d latch his birdy fingers onto the wood as I relocated him. He was unable. And that's when I came close enough to feel his vulnerability rest against mine. All of me calmed. He leaned on the stick, and I placed my stable hand on his back.

He was softer than my heart and just as fragile. We looked at each other for two seconds before he closed his eyes, and I lifted his quiet body. Iridescent purple danced across the dark of his feathers. His beak was grey like steady stone. I tucked him under a tree, near roots and green leaves on tender earth. After I watched him settle in, he seemed to sigh, and I reached for him once more. My touch weightless.

“You’ll be okay. It’s all going to be okay.” And then I walked away with the feel of him imprinted on my palm.

Mr. Rook’s fate lingered in my thoughts as I headed home. He might die. He might live. He might never be the same after whatever event had landed him on that road. None of which was up to me.

My shoulders softened; my smile was sudden. I let go of an outcome, of control, and trusted. That he felt loved. Comforted. As though his pain was lessened by connection. Like mine had been, once again.