It was one of the kinder things my mother said to me.
“Let it go,” my neighbor yelled at her golden retriever tussling with something in the grass. It was an opossum, bloodied but still alive. It didn’t resist as I carried it to safety.
And later, there was the fallen baby sparrow on my patio. It lay warm and quiet in my hand.
Yet it was in their final moments, with eyes like small dark marbles reflecting my own, that I began to wonder.
Is this what love looks like?