First Flight

Opening my front door, I am confronted by what I at first think is a juvenile starling but on reflection realise is a thrush. I am surprised not just by its presence but that it is so unphased by mine, sat there as implacably as an owl. After a second I understand that it is in fact stunned: its heart and lungs visibly throbbing, crouched in a thick pile of its own shit, blinded by the terror of first flight. Its sibling, no less stunned, stands tall, head cocked in seeming disbelief at its accomplishment, its Denis Healey eyebrows wryly at odds with its evident youth.