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Non-Fiction Nature Writing

Dee Walmsley

Just a Junco

He hopped down from his perch in the azalea bush as I mixed together the bucket of fertilizer and water. Just a tiny Oregon Junco taking in the sun or so I thought until he showed no fear or apprehension in my presence. I knew he was sick and that it was only a matter of time before the end.

I sat on the edge of the front porch talking softly to this little bird as he slowly pecked his way across the flowerbed. He hopped onto the lawn and I steered him away from the flowers I was about to feed and then watched as he drank from the dripping hose. As I returned to refill my bucket I saw him checking out my ornamental cedar and thought, good, you'll be safe there. Bringing him in the house wouldn't help; I knew the trauma of being handled would be more upsetting than letting nature take its course, and so when I saw him disappear into the greenery I was relieved.

I went about fertilizing the roses when a small movement on the road caught my eye. Oh no! It couldn't be, and then the wind caught a tiny feather and I knew. I waited anxiously as two cars passed by then confirmed my suspicions. There lay the remains of a tiny body that only minutes before had quenched its thirst from my hose. I crossed back over the road to get something to remove his squashed body as the traffic continued. When I returned only a spot on the road and one blood-soaked feather remained along with my guilt for not intervening. He was just a junco, now a little niche in my heart.

Copyright © 2000 by Dee Walmsley