I was walking at the park, halfway up the hill, when the object fell from a tree onto the middle of the road.  I thought it was a leaf at first, fall having arrived, but, when I leaned over to inspect it, I saw that it was a fuzzy caterpillar in this unique creamy-white color.

Now you would expect, given my renowned weak spot for all creatures (amendment: all creatures with fur) (second amendment: all creatures with fur that don’t eat people or spray foul odors or gross me out), you would expect that I would have rescued this innocent little guy and moved it out of the traffic and into the grass, where it could inch along confiding to its caterpillar buddies its dreams of becoming a butterfly one day.   

But, for reasons I can’t explain, I didn’t pick it up, or move it into the grass, but just left it there to fend for itself.  Instead, I, in me-me-me mode, continued my march up the hill, the whole time thinking, I should go back and rescue him.  But isn’t it crazy to worry about a little ol’ caterpillar?  Some bird will probably have him for a snack by the end of the day, anyway.  But maybe I should go back and rescue him before a car comes along and…

VROOOOOOM.  A monster truck with wheels the diameter of the moon cruised by and almost smooshed me like a…well…caterpillar.  Oh, no!  But maybe the caterpillar was in the one safe spot in between those monster wheels and somehow miraculously survived…maybe I should go back quickly now, before another car comes along and…

VROOOOOOM.  VROOM VROOM VROOOOOOM.  Each vehicle more monstrous than the last. 

I marched along, feeling like a jerk.  More than a jerk.  I’m a…a caterpillar murderer!  I’ve deprived the caterpillar the chance of achieving his butterfly dreams.  He’ll forever be known to his caterpillar friends as just a…caterpillar.  I should turn myself in. 

Around me the birds chirped and the sun shone and children giggled.  What a crummy day.

When I started my second lap up the hill, I decided, as punishment, that I’d make myself look for him.  I kept my eyes peeled on the road, nervous about what I’d find.  He fell somewhere around here, I think, around the middle of the hill.  There he is!  No…just a leaf.  There!  No, bird poop. 

Then I saw it.  A round flat pile of mustard-colored guts.  “Oh, no!” I wailed aloud.  It had to be him.  I mean, he was creamy-white on the outside, but this was the only pile of guts anywhere on the hill, so I guess his guts were the color of mustard.  I looked closer.  The pile looked kind of old, dried up.  I resolved to keep looking, just in case.

By the time I’d reached the top of the hill, I knew it had to be him, that pile of mustard guts, because he was nowhere else to be found.  Unless he’d managed to crawl to safety before…VROOOOOM.  What a crummy day.  I marched along, feeling like a jerk.  I turned up my iPod and played sad songs.  If only I’d…if only.

And then, at the very top of the hill…

There he was.  A creamy-white inch of fuzz, inching along the middle of the road.  Alive and happy and dreaming his butterfly dreams.  It had to be him.  I’d never seen anything like him.  He’d made it all this way without anyone’s help.  Without me.  Despite me.

I knew what I had to do.  I knelt down and let him crawl onto my hand, then carried him over to the grass and let him crawl off into his caterpillar world, where he belonged.  (Well, after unsticking him from my skin.  He didn’t seem to want to leave at first.)

It was a downright miracle.  I turned on a happy song and marched up the hill, grateful for second chances.

What a good day.

I was driving along the highway in my monster truck, zoned out listening to the instrumental version of “Sleighride,” when a tiny red cardinal came along out of the winter morning.  The male kind, the striking red you notice especially in winter against the backdrop of the gray, leafless tree limbs. 

This little guy stood out, too, but it was too late.  He flew across the road like he couldn’t help himself, and he was no match for my monster truck.  I squeezed my eyes shut and hoped he’d made it across.  But when I looked back in my rear-view mirror, I saw the unmistakable flash of red bouncing and fluttering on the road.  Even worse, he wasn’t dead, instead in pain and lying there waiting for the next monster truck to come along.  I said it aloud, “Oh, no, I hit a cardinal!”  Like hitting a wren or a robin wasn’t as bad, but a gorgeous red cardinal, and a teenage cardinal at that.  I felt sick, and the cheerful music felt wrong.

I tried to console myself with the thought that it was the little guy’s fault.  Surely he saw me.  Why did he just fly into my truck?  Stupid bird.  Or else he was reckless, or he wanted to die.  Except maybe he couldn’t stop mid-flight.  And, when it came down to it, why do I drive a big mean man-made truck?  He was just flying along in his own air space, minding his own business.  His kind was here before my truck ever was.  He belongs here.  My truck has no business here.  Maybe I should stop driving entirely. 

I felt sick the rest of the way home, in honor of the lost cardinal, knowing in an hour I’d be having brunch with friends and would have forgotten all about him, while he flopped around on that cold highway getting rained on.  I vowed to fill all my bird feeders to the brim that morning.

When I pulled into my driveway, another cardinal just like his lost friend was perched on my fence, the exact same size, another teenager.  Maybe they even went to the same bird high school.  I told myself it was a sign, that this little bird was here to tell me, “It’s alright.  It was meant to be.  It’s all part of the circle of life.”  I turned off the ignition and paused there for a minute, door closed, not wanting to exit and scare him away.  “No, really, go about your day,” the bird told me.  “Never mind us.  It was his fault.”

Or maybe I was just trying to make myself feel better.