This morning, something unexpected happened just outside my door.
A bird—tall, slender, with eyes wide and still—stood at the edge of my porch. At first, I thought it might have been hurt. I walked closer. No movement. I spoke gently. Nothing. I crouched down, took a photo. Still nothing.

It didn’t even blink.

It stood there, as if made of stone, for over an hour. I started to wonder—was it sick? Was it dying? Or maybe… waiting?

I left the house, shovel in mind, preparing myself for the quiet duty of laying this motionless guest to rest in the garden. But when I returned—
it was gone.

Just like that. No sound, no sign. Vanished.

I later learned it was a Bush Stone-curlew, an Australian native bird known for standing perfectly still when scared. It freezes, trusting its camouflage to protect it. Maybe it was just hiding in plain sight… or maybe it was more than that.

As strange as it sounds, I couldn’t help but feel like it had come with a message.

In my book, The Diary of Parallel Serendipity, I speak a lot about moments that seem ordinary but end up shaping our lives. A letter, a photograph, a delayed train, or a forgotten ring. And now, I’ll add a silent bird to that list.

Some visitors don’t stay long.
Some don’t even say a word.
But they stay with you — not in the garden, but in your memory.