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On the way in to Lunardi's today, I saw what looked like an iridescent green lump in front of the entry doors.
A man coming out said "I think it's a hummingbird." We guessed that it had flown into the glass doors and stunned itself. It wasn't dead, but it wasn't lively, either. And it wasn't even trying to fly.
I was afraid he would get stepped on. I was afraid he would die, and that would break my heart. The man standing with me was afraid to touch him.
So I scooped the bright green body into my hands. He didn't try to get away. He didn't even flutter as I scooped him off the sidewalk. It was a cold day, so, with my fingers cupped around his tiny body, I began to exhale gently on him to warm him up.
After a few minutes of soft steady warm breaths, he began to squirm, so I opened my hands. He fluttered in my palm, moving so slowly I could see each tiny wingbeat. After a minute and with a good deal of struggle, he managed to fly to my shoulder, then he just sat there.
I didn't want him to get cold. I didn't want him to die. He didn't want to fly. So I scooped him back into my hands and exhaled some more.
When I could feel his tiny wings beating against my palms again, I opened my hands. He stopped struggling and sat quietly on my palm. A part of me wanted to take him home and take care of him forever, but I know wild things are happier in the wild, so I reached up and held my hand next to a low tree branch that was in the sun. He clung to my finger, and I had to nudge him onto the branch. He just sat there looking at me. I backed away, I went into the store. Wild things need privacy.
When I came back he was gone. I looked around the base of the tree to make sure he hadn't fallen. I looked all around the entry to be sure he hadn't flown into the glass again, or fallen after a short flight.
I looked up in the sky to say good bye, and be careful.
A part of my heart flew away with him.
A man coming out said "I think it's a hummingbird." We guessed that it had flown into the glass doors and stunned itself. It wasn't dead, but it wasn't lively, either. And it wasn't even trying to fly.
I was afraid he would get stepped on. I was afraid he would die, and that would break my heart. The man standing with me was afraid to touch him.
So I scooped the bright green body into my hands. He didn't try to get away. He didn't even flutter as I scooped him off the sidewalk. It was a cold day, so, with my fingers cupped around his tiny body, I began to exhale gently on him to warm him up.
After a few minutes of soft steady warm breaths, he began to squirm, so I opened my hands. He fluttered in my palm, moving so slowly I could see each tiny wingbeat. After a minute and with a good deal of struggle, he managed to fly to my shoulder, then he just sat there.
I didn't want him to get cold. I didn't want him to die. He didn't want to fly. So I scooped him back into my hands and exhaled some more.
When I could feel his tiny wings beating against my palms again, I opened my hands. He stopped struggling and sat quietly on my palm. A part of me wanted to take him home and take care of him forever, but I know wild things are happier in the wild, so I reached up and held my hand next to a low tree branch that was in the sun. He clung to my finger, and I had to nudge him onto the branch. He just sat there looking at me. I backed away, I went into the store. Wild things need privacy.
When I came back he was gone. I looked around the base of the tree to make sure he hadn't fallen. I looked all around the entry to be sure he hadn't flown into the glass again, or fallen after a short flight.
I looked up in the sky to say good bye, and be careful.
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