It was a wide sweeping corner with plenty of view. The two lane road heading east from Marton to Sanson was bordered by grassy green fields and grazing sheep, and wound through undulating New Zealand farm country. With an ideal opportunity to pass presenting itself, I swung my car out from behind the big truck and trailer I had been following for some time, and put my foot down. The Honda surged forward, steady as a rock around the corner, past the trailer then truck. I signalled and, well clear of the truck, pulled back onto my side of the road.

A safe pass accomplished without drama.

It was then that, in peripheral vision sharpened by years of riding a motorcycle, I saw a small shape heading on collision course towards me from the right. I moved my focus of attention onto it and it was a small bird, probably a sparrow at full flight. Its path was going to take it straight in front of my car, right into the grille!

My foot itched to hit the brake, but I knew that truck was back there. Any hard, sudden braking on my part for no reason that the truck driver could anticipate would cause a nasty crash. Sometimes you have to accept that killing some wildlife on the road is better than causing death and mayhem to a much greater extent amongst other road users.

I tensed and waited for the sparrow and car to impact. Then, in a Jonathon Livingstone Seagull flight manoeuvre, the sparrow threw a stall turn to his right. One second he was on collision course with me, and the next he was close but angling along beside me.

My brain had just started to marvel at the bird’s flying ability when the car’s slipstream hit it. The blast threw the sparrow out of control and it plummeted headlong into the road surface.

Mentally cursing, I looked back as I drove on. One small body lay on the road near the centreline.

“It might be still alive,” I thought to myself. After all, birds can fly into windows at full speed and escape relatively unharmed. But that bird wasn’t going to live if the truck behind me ran it over. I strained my eyes to watch. As the truck passed the small shape on the road, its wheels were just a few inches from the downed bird. But other cars coming along were likely to run it over, another flattened carcass on the road.

My mind was in turmoil. Maybe the bird was still alive. Should I check it out? If I did, I’d have to pass this big lumbering truck again later.

But the mental image of that small, feathered shape on the road haunted me. I braked and pulled over. The truck and trailer-unit rumbled past.

Like most secondary New Zealand highways, the road I was on was relatively untrafficked, but I knew that a car could be along anytime soon to run over that small body. So I swung the car around fast and booted it back the way I’d come.

There it lay, a small, feathered bundle near the centreline. I pulled over, jumped out of the car, and ran over to it. It was still. Very still. I felt the sadness rising in me. “It’s dead.”

And then it moved! Slightly. But enough to tell me it was alive. I reached down and picked it up - warm, light, tiny, dazed, … but alive.

As a car rounded the corner towards me, I quickly moved off that tarsealed killing field back to my car at the side of the road. There was a cool wind blowing under a clear sky, but in the car it was warm. Warmth the sparrow needed to get over the shock.

I put the sparrow on the seat between my legs, reasoning that the warm bulk of my legs would help keep it warm. The sparrow lay there not moving. Where to from here?

The next town was Feilding, a few kilometres in the direction I had been heading. It would have a vet, although I’ve found that vets don’t seem to know a great deal about wild birds. Maybe there was someone in Feilding who tended to injured birds? I decided that Feilding was my best bet. I swung the car around again, and headed for it.

As I drove, every now and then I looked down at the bird between my legs. Well, since he had entered my life, he needed a name. What was a name for a sparrow? Simon. Yes, that was it. Simon the Sparrow.

Now that it had a name, the sparrow grew more precious. I looked down on it worriedly. Simon the Sparrow just lay there unmoving. Then, after about 10 kilometres of driving, I looked down and saw Simon move. He lifted his head blearily and looked around. The indications were that he wasn’t too badly injured!

I reached Feilding and pulled into a petrol station - I had needed a comfort stop before Simon the Sparrow had flown into my life. I picked Simon up and put him on the front passenger seat beside me. Then I reached out to open the car door. With a sudden flutter, Simon the Sparrow launched himself up off the passenger’s seat towards the closed car window, only to thump into it and fall back onto the seat again. He was rapidly recovering. He wanted out!

I looked around. I was in a busy petrol station at a busy roundabout. I wasn’t going to let Simon out here. He needed to be set free somewhere away from cars. Then I remembered that I had passed a park and playing fields on the outskirts of Feilding. With lots of trees and a big grassy area, that was the place to give him his freedom.

I slipped out of the car as Simon fluttered down into the footwell on the passenger’s side. A quick visit to the service station rest room and I was back to find Simon the Sparrow sitting on the passenger’s seat once more, obviously contemplating his next move.

I started the engine and drove towards the park. Suddenly Simon flew down into driver’s footwell. As I threw a glance downwards, I saw him perched on the brake pedal. Rather than squash him as I braked, I nudged him with my foot and he jumped across onto the metal footrest most automatic cars have for drivers who need a security-blanket for their unused left foot.

By now I was at the entrance to the park. I swung the car into the entry and drove in until I was stopped near some trees. I climbed out of the car, stood back, and left the driver’s door open so that Simon the Sparrow could make his escape. Instead, he just clung to the footrest and looked at me.

I shrugged, bent into the car, and reached down to pick him up. As my hand moved towards him, he flitted effortless past my hand and clung onto the front of the driver’s seat. I moved back out of the car and waited. Nothing happened. Simon the Sparrow looked at me and I looked at him.

After a minute or two of earnest staring at each other I decided that I’d pick him up and see if he had any obvious signs of injury, although I hadn’t seen any and he was flying OK.

Then, as I reached out towards him, Simon the Sparrow launched himself out of the car and, straight as a feathered arrow, flew into a tree some distance away.

I walked over to the tree and looked up. He was well hidden in the foliage. Simon the Sparrow was back in his element, free and alive.

I smiled a happy smile. Fly free, little birdie. Fly free.

And stay away from roads.

I climbed into the car and headed off home. Somewhere back in a tree in a park in Feilding, Simon the Sparrow was getting his bearings. Miles away from home … but alive.