The evening sun was low and golden when Sam found a small brown bird hopping in circles under the fence.
"My nest fell down," the bird chirped, "and rain is coming tonight."
Sam looked at the scattered twigs and the soft bits of moss. "I'll help you build it back up," Sam said. "I promise."
At first it was fun. Sam gathered twigs — snap, snap — and tucked them into a cup shape, just like the bird showed him. But then it was time for more twigs. And more. His knees got itchy from the grass. His fingers got sticky with sap.
"This is taking forever," Sam sighed, plopping down. The nest was only half done. The sky was turning grey, and Sam thought about his warm dinner waiting inside.
The little bird looked up with worried round eyes. "You said you'd help," it said softly.
Sam felt a small heavy feeling in his chest — the feeling of not wanting to finish something he had said he would. He took a breath. "I did say that," Sam said. "So I will."
Back he went, twig by twig, moss by moss. His hands worked slower now, but they kept working. Snap, tuck. Snap, tuck. The nest grew round and snug, just as the first fat raindrop plopped onto Sam's nose.
"Done!" Sam said, and the little bird hopped inside, turning in a happy circle before tucking down into the soft moss.
"Thank you for staying," the bird chirped, peeking out one more time. "You did just what you said."
Sam smiled, rain dotting his shoulders, and ran to the porch where a towel and a warm light were waiting. His legs were tired and his hands smelled like leaves, but something inside him felt light and warm too.
Inside, wrapped in a soft blanket, Sam listened to the rain tap gently on the window, thinking of one small bird curled up dry and cozy under the fence. His eyes grew heavy, heavier, and soon he drifted off to the soft patter of sleep.