It’s the first time I’ve had a place of my own — a quiet corner of London with trees, open space, and a feeling of being close to nature.
I’m an artist, and I’ve always had a deep love for animals.
But at the time I found the birds, I’d been in a depressive spell. I hadn’t painted in weeks, possibly longer. I’d lost that creative energy.
Then, out of nowhere, something small — and loud — stopped me in my tracks.
Inside were two tiny birds — fully feathered, but so small it was almost hard to believe.
They were chirping loudly and constantly, clearly distressed and confused.
I waited with them, sitting nearby and hoping a parent bird might return.
But as time passed, they began stepping out of the box and getting closer to the road.
I rang every rescue centre, vet, and wildlife sanctuary I could find — none were able to take them in.
So I brought them home.
I’d never looked after birds before, but I began researching straight away — how to feed and care for them properly.
I made a nest for them in a large open box lined with towels and soft T-shirts.
I learned they needed feeding every three to four hours, including during the night.
I mashed boiled egg with water and used soft tweezers to feed them gently. They chirped the moment I came near and opened their beaks as if I’d always been there.
The next two weeks were intense.
I barely slept, waking through the night to feed them.
But I didn’t mind. They were active, vocal, and full of personality.
As they got stronger, they began flying short distances — perching on my arms, shoulders, and hands.
I loved seeing them grow, but I also became nervous.
They were getting into corners, fluttering into odd spaces, and I worried for their safety.
I thought about buying a cage or keeping them with me longer, but I knew they needed more than I could give.
Eventually, I got through to a wildlife charity that agreed to take them in.
I sent photos and explained everything I’d been doing.
They confirmed the chicks were blue tits and assured me they could be given proper care, medical checks, and eventually be released when ready.
Letting them go was incredibly difficult. I cried in the taxi to the rescue centre. The driver asked about the chirping, and I explained through tears.
He listened, kindly. That journey will stay with me.
Looking after those two little birds changed something in me.
I’d barely been able to create anything before finding them, but during those two weeks I began painting again. I sketched and painted them constantly — their shapes, their expressions, their energy.
After they were gone, I made a small soft toy to remember them by. One of the portraits now hangs above my painting desk, and the toy sits beside it.
I also had a tattoo of them done — two blue tits surrounded by forget-me-not flowers — so they’ll always be with me.
Caring for them brought me out of a dark place. It reminded me that nature can still find you, even on a grey London pavement, even when you feel lost yourself.
I’m sharing this story with my local community in the hope that it reminds someone else that small things can matter more than we think.
Two tiny birds, in a box by the road, brought me back to myself.
