I was eye to eye
with the hummingbird three days ago. He wore his shimmering green feathers,
carried his piercing needle bill, as always. His too-large ebony eye stared
right into mine. He was just several feet above me on the non-bearing cherry tree limb. But we might have been nose-to-nose for
the intimacy of it.
It has sprinkled, showered, poured, rested and rained again onto the earth which
desperately thirsts for it. My dog and I walked in the downpour, the streets silent
except for rainspeak and completely unpeopled except for those who sped by in
cars. We came back soaked and celebrated this fact through a giggly photo shoot
of our dripping hair/fur. I wanted to shout throughout the walk – into the
overcrowded neighborhood: It’s raining!
It’s raining! Do you notice? Do you care? Do you see how much we need this?
Will you come dance with me? Will you, can you, abandon all the reasons why you
won’t, and just become again your childlike self, your earthy self, your
unencumbered whole human self?
More heavenly
than prayer. More encouraging than hope. More quieting than meditation. More
natural, more human, more intact than these asphalt roads and stucco square
houses.
Last night I
heard the sudden heavy wing beats of an owl in the dark, not far above my head.
It was powerful, startling. It piqued my curiosity; quickly I grabbed a
flashlight and shined it in the direction of the sound. Nothing. But the silence
and stillness that followed the owl’s departure from our yard was as potent as
what had preceded it.
In the dim
cloudiness of this morning, I saw the hummingbird who had held my stare a few
days ago. While my ears tuned in to the sound of drops thrumming the tin porch
overhang, my eyes focused on the shape of the tiny bird rapidly progressing
from limb to leaf, trunk to ground cover and back into the foliage again. He
looked no different from his sunshiny visits – no faster, no more frenetic, no
wetter. That is just what a hummingbird does: he moves through the air, whether
wet or dry. He looks for nourishment…as does the one-footed fat bird who visited again just moments ago to dance upon the cement patio.
Even
hummingbirds go out in the rain. And footless birds and owls. And one human
with her dog. Will you join me in seeking nourishment from this planet’s
offerings?
All blog images created & photographed by Jennifer J. Wilhoit unless otherwise noted. Please circulate images with photo credit: "©2014 JenniferJWilhoit/TEALarbor stories. AllRightsReserved."
