Hummingbird
Attention devoted anxiously to the copper kettle and coffee grounds, I hear the chirping of a bird, dimly, dully, through the fog of caffeine addiction. I turn my head, registering a hummingbird hovering over the nasturtiums, very close to the ground. Across from the bird, the cat is taught, strung like a bow, prepared to pounce. It happens. I see them connect, and I’m out the door like a shot fired, both hands around my ferocious feline friend. Nothing in mouth or under claw, I spirit her away.
She complains as I plop her hastily inside. Shutting the screen door behind me, I return to the bed of nasturtiums, heart racing.
”Are you okay? Are you okay?” I ask again and again, voice trembling. Lowering a hand, I gently push aside leaves, flowers, pods, and vines, searching. Nothing. I know what I saw. My pounding heart and the flood of adrenaline that propelled me are confirmation.
Gingerly, my fingers creep along, lifting nasturtiums. With a feral cry, the tiny bird reveals itself, wings thrumming in a clumsy but speedy take off. Shooting past my ear and away, he is alive enough, well enough to vanish in an instant. Relief doesn’t quiet my heart. The rain and the empty feeder were critical factors, I decide. Rushing inside, I replenish and then replace the hummingbird feeder. Still in shock, I return to my kettle. All day, I will watch birds feed and wonder, Is it he?
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