On a particularly hot Friday afternoon, the beginning of Memorial Day weekend, most folk had already pulled the plug on business activities and begun the mad rush to the mountains, the beach, the ball game, the hammock.

My New Earth Band had an upcoming concert, for which I had to swing by one of my musical apparatus suppliers to pick up an essential item. I was in the store but a moment, and as I emerged, my wife, Elsa, said, “There must be a fallen bird over there, because employees leaving the building keep asking, ‘Is that bird still there?’ ”

I asked Elsa, “Would you like to take a look?”

“Sure,” she responded.

Hunkered down on his little belly, alone on that sizzling asphalt parking lot, was the tiniest baby bird I had ever seen. No bigger than a golf ball, he had no plumage, save a tuft of... »
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