I was on my way to an appointment, near home, early this afternoon. It had already been a long day. I was dragging behind me my satchel, which isn’t quite a suitcase, but a sort of small container on wheels. It is used to carry what another person would put in a backpack. This method of transporting articles is all-round easier for me. The wind was blowing my hair, the sun was bright- that special sun that comes with wind. I was about to cross the line on the sidewalk into the shade of the building to my right. I don’t know how I noticed it, but as I was striding along, all of a sudden I stopped short. Right in front of my rolling bag- the next movement would have been right over it- was a small bird. How it had escaped being trampled already was astonishing. The young couple walking at my speed behind me, nearly plowed into me, but at the last moment went around me, like flowing water ’round a rock. I looked down at this tiny bird to access what I thought was happening; I couldn’t tell. It just sat there. I continued to look at it, and it continued to sit there. One of us had to do something, so I bent down and with a fluid movement enclosed the feathered body in my hand; his [as it was plain brown-therefore likely a she] spindly legs and feet dangling between my ring and little fingers. Now I stood there with bird in hand. This is taking place beside a busy restaurant with sidewalk tables. I don’t know how the people sitting just two or three feet away had missed him. I turned my head toward the tables and saw a couple of people, looking, smiling, but no one said or did anything. It was quiet. My first thought was to take the bird to the veterinarian where I had once brought the wounded pigeon. [This was the same side of the street as the pigeon and a few yards away from that spot.] While thinking of that, and taking a few steps forward, the little body fluffed in my hand. This communicated to me that the wings were not damaged. The second thought that came to mind was a chance article I had read a couple of weeks ago, about making water available for city and migrating birds. As this thought entered my head, I looked around and saw there was no water on the ground, no puddles, no dishes for dogs which some restaurants offer. Water, I decided was the answer. I walked about 20 feet to the tree with an undergrowth of weeds and set the little bird down, between the filigree branches of something that resembles dill. I took the lid off the empty water bottle in my purse, and as I was now outside of the Golden Rabbit, where flowers are sold, I took the lid, filled it with water from a bucket of flowers and set it down in front of the bird. He didn’t move. I just watched. Still he didn’t move. I had to get on, so I left. Three hours later I returned. Less water in the tiny bowl, no bird. I looked all through the growth, but he was gone. I will never know. Tonight I will put a bowl of water on my fire escape.