Our internet server was down this morning, so when I finished the two delivered-to-our-home newspapers, I found myself eating breakfast with our dog Mollie and cat Oreo, who sat attendance on me, waiting for the goodies I share with them each morning, and no online New York Times. "Woe is me," I thought, "or is it woe am I? I can never keep that saying straight. How am I going to function without my editorials?"
Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of iridescent beauty, so startling and so lovely, that I gasped with pleasure. Sitting on a limb of a bush in front of our dining room window was a stationary hummingbird looking at me. For a brief second or two, we regarded each other, and then, in a blur of wings, she was off. My heart was full of wonder and joy.
While I cannot recall another time when I've seen a hummingbird sitting still, we do have another hummingbird with different coloring who occasionally greets me when I take the trash cans down to the cul-de-sac. She hovers in front of my face, looks straight at me, her wings whirring, and appears to greet me. Then, she either flies around me once, or she flies off to the nearest fruit tree. Each time this happens, I feel blessed, as if the hummingbird and I have made a mystical connection.
It occurs to me that I am perhaps missing many such enchanting moments, glued as I am to books and my computer. As I've gotten older and more aware of my shortening time on earth, I've been trying to fill my brain with as much written knowledge via books and the computer as I can, but perhaps it would wiser to spend more time with hummingbirds instead.
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