The bird that I pretend to save.

In the water it falls. Using a stick I rescue it. Sitting there at the edge with a broken wing I know my effort is worthless.

If I move the bird to the other side it won't fall in again. It won't drown. But how will it die? Without a wing it's a matter of time.

I leave the bird where it is as I farewell. It looks at me. Relief or hope? I know what I'll see when I return.

Exactly as one imagines. A dead bird. And I feel like shit. My eyes darken. Anger engulfs me. Why did I save what I kill?

I pull out the dead bird and set it gently in a patch of dry grass to rest in peace.

To be eaten by the falcon dead and not alive.