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I Am the Bird Whisperer 
I wasn’t going to say anything about this. But then, this morning, it happened again.A tiny warbler flew into our screen door. I watched as it bounced off, and landed on thedeck. I ran out to check on the bird to find it disoriented, and cold, and lying on its back.Of course, I thought the worst. Perhaps it was just a baby, so tiny I could enclose myhand around it. I picked it up, and held it so it could absorb the warmth of my hand. Itfinally stirred. I couldn’t help whispering to it, coaching it to heal. I brought it into thewarm house, then sat, doing nothing but holding the little bird until it fell asleep in myhands.Minutes went by. The little bird awoke. It seemed alert, so we took it outside, hoping itwould fly. I pulled my right hand away, so it sat, unhindered in my left. But it wouldn’tleave. I put it down on the deck; its feathers puffed out against the cold. So, I pickedher up again. This time, she clamped her feet around my finger. It was an odd, magicalfeeling: this little tiny bird, trusting me. David was fascinated. He tried to prompt her tofly by gently nudging her from behind. She held on tight to my finger. He put his finger in front of her, but she wouldn’t leave mine.She stayed so long, in fact, that we were able to snap some pictures. Then, withoutwarning, she took off and flew to a nearby tree without issue.But that’s not the whole story.Exactly one month ago, to the day, I was walking by my neighbor’s open garage when Iheard the strange gonging of something striking metal. I stopped, turned, and heard itagain. It was coming from inside the front of the garage, from a potting table against alarge picture window.When I got closer, I could see a small yellow warbler flying up against that window,trying to get out. I squeezed my upper body under the top shelf and extended my arm to
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