Broken Wings

Here, can you save her? I asked someone who hurt me deeply just a few days before.

I was carrying my wounded self around, confused, when a bird crashed at my feet. These animals are so small that their fluttering becomes quite frantic. Somehow, that always made me a little scared of these small flyers.

This one could barely move, though, so I picked her up and held her in my hands, as if a makeshift nest. Holding and wishing her well wasn’t enough to save her, and who knows how much time she had, how badly injured she was.

My heart was pounding as I went searching for that person, who held the bird with a smirk, and told me not to think about it anymore—it would all be sorted.

Decades later, it became clear: this had been a request to fix me and my broken wings.

The request was dismissed, and it took a very long time to be able to fly again.

Now, as I raise ducks and geese, each bird counts. Any injured or ill duck gets pampered and a good opportunity to heal. And when they do, a part of me heals along with them.

A week or so ago, a goose got so entangled in the fence, it made a garrote around one foot. It took well over half an hour to disentangle her. It felt quite intimate to have such a temperamental bird letting go and peacefully laying on my lap, as we talked and I worked my fingers through the ropes. Once she was free, she stayed a bit longer with me, and I massaged her swollen limb for a while—we weren’t ready to let this moment end. We stayed like this until a sudden breeze from the South called her and she limped away. She is fine now, and I am richer thanks to her.