The bird that swooped down in front of the car ahead of me the other day didn't stand a chance

My first impulse was to swerve

All I saw was tangled black and white matted feathers dropping in a straight line

I felt a responsibility to it

But before I could fully brake I wondered, "What?"

Could I see myself rescuing this tattered pile, scooping it up in my hands and trying to sort out a place to put it in my car that would allow it to be unencumbered, to possibly fly once it got its bearings and shook off the shock of impact?

There was no place to pull over and my head was already filled with what was left of a day

Conversations filled with riddles

Plenty of placating ( a type of rescuing for sure)

There was nothing there when I looked in the rear view mirror which was a relief

and the car in front was long gone.