The new apartment has a picture window in every room. In the living room, I sit in a corner and type, and a massive thump stops my fingers, makes my heart stutter. My eyes go left just in time to catch a dark shape falling; when I stand and peer, I find a stunned female cardinal huddled and trembling under the window. She has black eyes. They glitter hard. I start to fear that she's broken a wing, or a rib, or her spine. But she gets to her feet, stumbles, flies off awkwardly, finds her grace again as she angles into the woods.