A youngling to save

I was out in the early morning on occasional errands when I saw, from the corner of my eye, a pack of dogs growling towards something. I was curious so I looked in that direction to see that they were prepared to turn into predators and feast on a young crow. My mind froze for a bit and recalled the images of the rat and bat that I couldn’t save. I parked my vehicle haphazardly and strode towards the pack. Two of them bared their teeth at me, I couldn’t be fazed. In a short span of time, I became we. Two passers-by came for the rescue of the youngling. It had tried to fly and fell on the road; I saw a nest above its head, atop a tree.

‘Don’t touch the bird, else the other crows will peck on it and kill it!’ – false

‘Don’t touch the bird; else the other crows will peck on you!’ – true

These were the few comments that I heard from the folks around at different points of my life. I’ve had a crow peck on my head once. It does hurt. By now, I realized that a hundred eyes were watching our every move. There was a murder of crows surrounding us from all possible directions.

One of the folks who came to help picked up a piece of broken asbestos sheet and tried to nudge the youngling climb on it. There was a stray lizard which climbed on him, I brushed it off. He was able to get the youngling climb on the sheet, and he intended to place the sheet in the footpath.

I thought; if the youngling is left on the footpath it’ll surely be ripped into pieces, and if it is left atop a wall then there’s a chance that the crows will peck it to death. I understand that crows won’t just kill their youngling because it fell out of the nest. So, that’s the chance I took. I took the asbestos sheet from him, and placed it carefully atop a steep wall.

At this moment, there was only so much I could do. I hope the youngling grows into an able crow.

Dreams unfulfilled

So I was cleaning up my desk and trying to get myself to read a book when I saw a moth landing on the window sill. To say that the moth was huge would be an understatement; it was almost the size of my little finger. It had its wings spread out like an eagle; I assume it was still trying to be comfortable with its spot. I watched the moth for a few moments, and ended up watching it till I went to sleep.

The lights in my room were on, and I can safely assume that it was trying to get closer to the source of light. What difference does it make to a moth if the source of light is not natural, like the moon and stars? All it was a source of light in front of its eyes. It was as if the moth were Mr Gatsby. Who am I kidding with these comparisons?

I cleaned up my desk, and was seeing, from the corner of my eye, the various attempts made by the elderly moth to find a way to enter the room. Alas, the window was covered with plastic gauze, and there was no way in for the moth. It was a patient moth, not unlike a restless cockroach. I tried to focus on its eyes, and I could imagine the legend of the Mothman being born. I encourage you to look it up – the Mothman is an urban legend which was captured on paper and film. It was hairy, its eyes were hollow and dark, and it was staring at the light source.

I went to sleep after sometime. I woke up to see the wrinkled body of the moth near the window sill. I felt guilty; I knew how much the moth wanted to be closer to the light source. I didn’t help it, and ended up being a silent spectator.

The moth had one dream, one attainable dream – and it was left unfulfilled.