I believe in the tiny hummingbird that almost kissed me one day, long ago, on a secluded pink-sand beach in the Bahamas.
She flew up to my face and hung in midair – staring at me – as if to say: “So, what’s your story?”
My story then was one of a beautiful, shooting star marriage that had just burned itself out. Bright with thrills, joys and promise – as suddenly as it began, it was over.
Camping alone on a hilltop above a tropical beach, surrounded by coconut trees, the glorious Caribbean Sea and endless memories, I guess I was ready to meet a new friend.
She flew up several times to see me and one day, I followed her home, which was on the low branch of a nearby tree.
There she was. Such a small, beautiful creature – at rest in her tiny, one-person nest.
She let me come right up to her. And, inches away from my nose, she rested comfortably, now and then glancing this way and that way, but mostly, examining me closely with penetrating black eyes.
I marvelled at the sheen of blue-green feathers, the blur of whispering wings, the intelligence and love mirrored in those sparkling eyes, the great honor of their trust.
Yes, I believe in that Bahamian hummingbird who came to see me – again and again – and then guided me to her nest. That mysterious Being who let me sit and stare, in silence and reverence. Who taught me how to look again, and see the world around me.
And gave me back the sweet intoxication of life.
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