The Little Bird

A few weeks ago, I found a small bird nestled next to a cushion on one of my balcony chairs, not moving. I thought the bird might be sleeping and didn’t disturb it. A few days later, I went outside again. The bird was still there. I knew it was dead. Using a garden trowel, I gently moved the bird into a small plastic bag, along with the pillow on which it had been resting. The beautiful feathers were intact and softly draped over the body. The tiny head was still curled under one wing, in the same position it had been in a few days ago. I am not a particularly religious Jew, but I do know the Mourner’s Kaddish, which is the Hebrew prayer said when someone has died. The words of this prayer make no mention of death or dying, only the sanctification and blessings of life. As I looked at the bird, I said the Kaddish, then sealed up the bag and walked it to the receptacle in my building. I do not know how this bird came to be on a sixth-floor balcony of a Montreal apartment building, nor how it came to die on a cushion with its head curled under a wing. What I do know that this bird gave me the gift of being able to honour its short life and death. Because of this bird on my balcony, I found a few moments–perhaps even a day–of peace, in the midst of October 2023.