WEEK 8 - Wondrous Wings

Oh tiny one, with wondrous wings that beat faster than the eye can see. I watch you from my garden as you take sugar water from the feeder. Sometimes you alight relaxed, and take long draughts like someone who's been long denied a cool drink. Other visits you make to the feeder are done warily, never perching. You sip quickly as you fly to and from the flower shaped opening, vigilant, ready to flee from danger.

Leonardo da Vinci studied you centuries ago, attempting to discover the secret held in the structure of your wings. The delicate wings that give you agility and speed that's never been duplicated by any human-made contraption. You tease us flat-footed, immobile mortals with your effortless passage through the air.

Once, I held one of you in the palm of my hand after you had taken your last flight in this earthly realm. Your weight was imperceptible. You were so light, no heavier than the breath expelled from a little child. I marvelled at your tiny feet and dark eyes and iridescent soft feathers. Next to the Peruvian lily, I buried you--the lily from whose blossoms you had undoubtedly sought nectar to feed your monstrous appetite. You little hummingbirds visit the feeder and the blossoms, and the blossoms and the feeder in a cycle that doesn't end but for the onset of night. Sometimes, your ceaseless diving and swooping and chirping tires me. But mostly, your wondrous, whirring wings bring me joy.