Perched on a rectangular wall sign above gate eighteen, a bird stared out the floor to ceiling bay windows onto the tarmac. Whitewash covered the number eight on the placard and was the only signal that the bird occupied the vast space that was terminal one at the Kansas City airport. Easily, several tennis matches could be played simultaneously in this vast space.

The bird stared out the window and from time to time flew at the giant glass before pulling up inches from the pane and returning to the perch on the number eighteen. I wondered how long it’s been in here. Long enough to know what glass was and how to spot it. Was the bird happy in here, or did it long for fresh air? Was there any attempt by the staff to catch and free the interloper?

From its perch, the bird flew to the top of a coffee and pastry kiosk. The terminal was packed though, and no opportunity presented itself to land on the ground and look for crumbs. Crumbs of wheat flour and sugar were not a balanced diet, I thought. Maybe there were seeded loaves that shed some more substantial fare.

I willed the bird to come land on my arm and pictured it doing so. But then what? I thought. I imagined myself walking the creature cupped softly in my hand over to an official and explaining the issue. I had the bird! The official walked me over to a restricted access doorway and, using his pass card, opened the door onto a metal stairway leading down to the pavement. I released the bird who turned in the air back toward the terminal smacking headlong into the floor to ceiling bay glass.