I had an appointment with my accountant and had allowed myself just enough time to get there.  Yet, when I rounded the corner, what I saw in the road ahead changed my entire afternoon.

He had been hit, his wing broken.  Attempting to fly, the gull continued to make ragged circles, all the while rolling himself in the direction of the pond.  Each attempt twisted his soft gray and white wing further out of alignment as he tried time and time again to right himself and head off with his flock mates.  I looked at the clock and mentally cancelled my appointment.  As cars passed by, I stood watching hopelessly, cringing each time he tried to stretch out that bedraggled, torn wing, spiraling in a twisted, painful circle.  How to catch him? 

He got himself to the edge of the pond, and flung his body into the muddy water, finally able to sit upright, paddle his feet, feel somewhat normal again.  Yet, the urge to fly was strong and each time he tried to lift his wing, he would turn at odd angles, ending up on his side or back, looking as if he would surely drown.  "Gulls can't drown" my friend told me later, but the way he looked, I believe it was possible. 

Leaving me to stand guard, Kevin went to fetch a net.  I sat, keeping an eye, ready at any moment to wade into the waist-deep muck to save the gull should he appear in trouble.  I cinched my tennis shoes tightly, removed my watch; I was ready.  He tipped over again, struggling in some weeds and when I saw his little feet in the air, I held my breath until he righted himself again.  I talked to him, telling him that if he could just come across to my side, I could help him; we would take him to a rescue site.  He would be safe.  I talked while he bobbed helplessly under the overhang of the steep bank - too far away to reach, even with a net.  The elementary school bell rang and as noisy children scurried out onto the sidewalk, he began to panic, trying once again to leave the pond, to soar off with his friends, but to no avail.

An hour passed; I continued to talk to him.  And then, he began to move toward me, quickly.  He paddled straight across.  My heart started to race with excitement and fear he'd try to fly and I wouldn't be able to catch him.  But he came straight toward me, and when he reached the jagged rocks at the edge of the pond, he began to try and climb up, his broken wing, soaked with muddy water, twisted and mangled.  He flapped his wings, struggling to get to land, and with one last surge of energy, flung himself on the gray rocks and was still.  His broken wing lay caught between the rocks and sticks; his eye looked clear and straight at me.  He was nearly within arm's reach.  I wanted to reach down and get him but feared he'd panic.  As I scooted slowly down the bank, he didn't move, but kept his eye locked on me.  I straddled the rocks and laid a towel over him.  He weakly nipped at my gloved hand, but was too spent to cause pain.  I waited on the sidewalk with him while waiting for my friend to bring a box.  He smelled of the muddy pond and wet feathers.  I lay down next to him, holding him gently under the towel, reassuring him we would do all we could.  He watched me, and weakly grabbed the towel in his beak, but didn't struggle.  I believe he knew he had no choice and that I was there to help.  As the other gulls soared over us, their wings casting shadows on the water below, he watched them, damp and muddy under the towel, his torn wing unable to carry him off onto cool currents of air.

I laid him in a cardboard box.  He didn't struggle.  We took him to a bird rescue where a volunteer examined him.  His wing was broken badly, but it was repairable.  We left with high hopes that he'd mend and be released back to his flock.  Then, the call came.  I'm so sorry.  He didn't make it.  Perhaps his struggle had been too much.  How many others had driven by before me?  Why hadn't the car that'd hit him stop?  Still, I was glad he didn't die there, wet and cold in the gray rocks where predators could find him.

On a recent trip to the Oregon coast, I watched gulls aloft on cool currents, their gray and white bodies blending with the colors of sea and sky.  As I watched them, floating effortlessly, high above me, I thought of my bird and took comfort in knowing that God has taken him back and he floats without pain on soft breezes high above the earth.