I was walking from an appointment to the subway when the realization hit me. It was past three o’clock and I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. I didn’t want to go to Mickie Dee’s or opt for a very pricey trip through the salad bar at Whole Paycheck.

I ducked off Michigan Avenue, which was crowded with tourists and buskers with their open, velour-lined guitar and violin cases sporting collections of singles and found myself on Huron Street in front of a little Italian deli and bakery, L’Appetito. I bought a calzone and found a seat on their small patio.

A short, black iron railing and a thin layer of bushes surrounded the little rectangle where six two-seat café tables and black wicker chairs were arranged. One giant red umbrella provided shade for the entire area.

I chose a chair near the sidewalk and rested my backpack on the chair opposite me. I started nibbling on my calzone, which was really hitting the spot, when a little sparrow emerged from the bushes and landed not three feet from me.

Of course, I started to talk to the bird. It wasn’t exactly a baby bird, but it didn’t seem to be fully grown either. It was probably 4 inches from the end of his tail to his beak, different shades of gray with a bluish underbelly. He turned his head in jerky movements as if a character in a stop action animation. For a few moments, he puffed up, spreading out his feathers and extending his chest as if he was pretending to be bigger than he was.

I’m so glad you stopped by today, little sparrow. Do you want to tell me something?

Even if I did not speak these words out loud, the bird seemed to know I was addressing him. He tilted his head as if questioning me. I wanted to take this chance encounter with such a natural, unpretentious creature as a sign that something good was about to enter my life.

I took another bite of my calzone and observed how a thread of melted cheese stretched from my mouth to the pocket style sandwich I held in my hand. I listened to the bells from St. James Cathedral across the street peal, marking the quarter hour. I contemplated the kinds of life changes I’d welcome. I contemplated that the bird was here to grant me a wish.

The idea came over me that I should share my lunch. I broke off a corner of my calzone. Then again, I took the piece of bread and broke it down further into about eight crumbs, each one small enough, I hoped, to fit down the bird’s throat. I placed some crumbs on the table and some on the patio floor.

The little sparrow scooped up one crumb eagerly. He held it in his beak for a few moments before he gulped it down. He picked up a second crumb then flew away.

A few seconds later, a similarly sized sparrow landed on the table, grabbed a crumb and flew off. Then another bird replicated this routine. And then another bird, and another…until all the crumbs were gone.

I smiled. What was I thinking? That the bird was here to bring me a message from the universe, that he landed on my table at L’Appetito to tell me something? He was just hungry and he knew of a good spot to have this need met.

Maybe this was the extent of the message.

Getting a gentle reminder from the universe that it’s not always about you is no small thing.