Between one task and another out in the yard, I happened to look down, and there was a small olive-colored bird standing on the concrete in front of me. I bent and gently took it into my hand–it was indeed a live bird. A baby, by the looks. Brought it inside to show the family, was cautioned not to scare it, that it might die of fright.
I had some potting to do in the greenhouse, and it was cold and raining, so I brought the bird in and set its little claws on the edge of a tomato pot. It showed no sign of lifting off, so I went about my business, glad of the company and hoping for the best. Must have hit a window and needed to recover. I let it be, and took a few minutes to consult a field guide. Orange crowned warbler, it looked to be, though definitely a young one.
The next time I checked, the bird was taking a nap in the same spot I’d left it. Then five minutes later, bright eyes again, blinking at me calmly, a little tuft of feather out of place over one eye. I potted up some more tomatoes and peppers, looked again, and it had left the pot. I spotted it above my head, where it was exploring possible exits near the closed vents. I opened the swing door and tried to assist it out, but decided to let it find its own way, since surely it had the skill. Within a minute, off it flew.
Since then I have felt the presence of the bird in my greenhouse whenever I go there. It’s as if a blessing was given, and the little warbler will always be with me there.