(but I don't at all mean the book by Mary Doria Russell, which I recall finding very disturbing when I read it in high school.) I was running along the canal behind my house this morning and almost stepped on a little sparrow sleeping on the path. So I stopped and thought, "how distressing, this poor juvenile sparrow has recently been evicted from it's nest and now is lost and homeless and sleeping in the path. I should move it before someone with a dog comes by and bothers it." Riiiight. Actually, that's how I justified picking up a wild animal, what I really thought was, "awww, look at the adorable fluff ball on the side of the trail! What a cute, fuzzy baby bird with his feathers all puffed out and his head tucked into his back to sleep! So cute; I must pet him." It was about as gushing as I ever gush. So I cupped my hands around the tiny bird, much smaller than the feather fluff would imply (don't worry, he was big enough that I'm sure he didn't have a momma out looking for him) and picked him up and held him for a moment before putting him back down on the other side of the path where I had convinced myself he'd be safer.

Since I'm on the bird subject already, the red-winged blackbirds were frolicking all around where I was skiing this morning looking very pretty with the vibrant red blotches against the rest of their velvety black bodies.