Like Alexander and his beetle I find a little bird. I want to “put it in a matchbox and keep it very well.” It has a big head and beak, hollow eyes, a few messy feathers and tiny wings.
It must have fallen from its nest in the cement “jafri”* of our courtyard. I want it for a pet but it’s dead. It was too little to fly.
Some say we were too little to fly; boarding school at 6 and a half. We were. But there were kind arms to catch us. Not many cement landings.
Hard is not bad.
Easy is not good.
Safe is more sound
when you’ve been lost, and found.