On a spring afternoon, a newborn bird fell to the ground.

Today’s story is from Melanie Swiercinski.

Melanie and her dad, John.
Ocean Beach, San Francisco (2011)

“Dad help, please hurry,” I cried. Like a shot, he bolted from the house. I was stretched out on the ground.

The newborn bird looked like a misshapen worm. Eyes sealed. His translucent flesh pale pink, all puckered and worn. Jagged pieces of shell lay spread in the grass. His mom surely figured him dead.

As soon as I called, Dad ran out and dove to the ground. He hurt like I hurt. He felt what I felt. He became me.   READ MORE