The Tiniest Moves

a baby owl fell from its nest right
into my house last night
somehow making its way
up the stairs and
by sunrise was perched on
the tap of the bathroom sink
where I first spotted it—

its miniature heart-shaped head
tilted the tiniest quiver as
two button-round black eyes
latched onto mine in a ruffled
dazed blink while
downy-grey feathers trembled
the littlest shakes in the world . . .
it was all so unexpected
so out-of-the-blue
that my own heart erupted in the
tiniest of flutters . . .

the bird allowed me to ease it into a
a basket and with the smallest
of breaths I stepped outside
into the woods . . .

it slow-blinked and . . .
dazzled by dappled light
soft-flapping it's whole heart
the baby owl flew a fledgling
flight onto a pile of
brown oak leaves where
it sank down in a
fluff of quiet crinkles . . .

waiting . . .

I couldn't help but breathe
an imperceptible sigh of relief –
feel the crease of a new smile
since I knew its mother
would hear the owlet's sharp
baby whistles later and
things would turn out ok

it was then
I couldn't help but think
about tiny moves . . .

the tilt of a head
blink of an eye
flicker of heartbeat . . .

till I understood that
these tiniest of moves
most miniature motions

often mean the very
biggest of things