Bird On A Window

The sky. It is not the ceiling to the earth, not here at least. Here there is an infinite sky. It is the earth that is finite. It is the earth that is the floor. And on this snow-encrusted patch of it, we are snug inside our adobe house, watching the birds at the bird feeder. The snow is starting to melt on the road because it got up to 40 degrees today. The mile and a half of dirt road between here and the pavement is mudpie wet and the cars skid around as if they were driving on ice.
This is not the spring melt. It is just a little warm up that cools right off again and then warms again, over and again, if this is a typical winter for Northern New Mexico.
As I was sitting and speculating on the mountain, whether if I stared at it long enough, I would be able to tell where the gold mine is, I heard a thud on the window. I went outside to check, as this window is in a wall of clear windows in the solar room of the house. Indeed, one of the small birds had flown into the glass and after examining the bushes below the windows, found the poor little thing, dazed and motionless. I gently picked it up and took then moved my finger around to see if it could move its neck. It looked to the right a little and then the left a little. So I placed it on the patio chair and came inside to quickly google "bird flew into window".
Immediately I had advice so I followed it. This is what I did. I found a nice box, actually a box from a case of wine. I put paper towels in the bottom and a couple of clean cotton rags. Then placed the little creature, who was sitting dazed in the chair where I left her, (No pink markings so I am assuming she is a she)into the box, shut the lid, put a dark towel over the top to keep it dark inside, and placed the box inside where the sun would warm it.
In twenty minutes or so, there was a bit of fluttering and hopping inside the box, so I carried it outside and opened it. Out she flew. John and I applauded happily.
The advice I found said that if she was just in shock, this is exactly what would be likely to happen. If the injuries were severe, she would probably die. But she lived! She flew! And I like to think that she was among the crowd that gathered in celebration at the feeder shortly thereafter.
How very soft and light she was. I carried her so gently and talked to her in a soft voice. Her tiny little feet might have perched on a pencil. It was a very precious and tender few moments and I feel grateful to have had the honor.