He spoke of watching the hummingbird bring soft fuzz and leaves
high in the sequoia in the front yard. He watched it turn around
and form it with its vibrating tail feathers and tiny humming bottom,
circling like a dog before settling in, readying it for its mate. He told
of the days that came and went with no more activity, the nest unfinished.
He wondered if it had died in the outbreak of mold and bacteria-infected
feeders also killing goldfinches, evening grosbeaks, pine siskins, the year
the humans were forced indoors.
He watched as twigs and leaves, fur and threads, disintegrated, blew away,
until there was nothing left but the story of a love built and undone,
offered months later in a cozy nest atop the eastern facing hill, something
soft and tender for winter’s longest night, as we encircled, fluffed cushions,
settled in, our bodies warming each other, silky silver hair, moonlight, flickering
flames brushing my cheek in the otherwise black night, awakening my spirit
with a primordial call to which there is only one response: Let us pass the dark
night together, the wind through the pines hushing our ever-humming fear.
YAY! Permission granted 😁! Still fabulous, still beautiful, still poignant. Congratulations dear friend, another masterpiece ❣️.
Too kind, but I’m glad it landed for you!