every living thing

Today I held a whippoorwill in my hand. On the wing, attracted by the sun’s rays  he flew into my window pane.  I don’t know how to save a dying bird.  I soothed his sticky feathers as  his glazed eyes fixed on a  different galaxy,  held him in my palm  until his breast bone ceased to rise and fall. I buried him in the settled shade of an ancient Ash felled by winter’s gusts.  Above his resting place the sky was as soft as my words.  Now I put it into the world as though it is my responsibility for every living creature is significant and as beautiful as the shimmering rain from a golden cloud.