This morning walking my cat Nobiya, a hummingbird buzzed
about 3 feet in front of us and landed delicately, lightly, perfectly on a tiny
bare twig, barely an eighth of an inch in diameter, sticking out from a small
tree.
I often snap those twigs off as we walk, tidying up the
place. A clean, easy snap, so
satisfying.
It never occurred to me they served a purpose just as they
were.
Nobiya, crouching and looking straight out at the ground,
doesn’t even appear to notice the bird.
I stand in awe, watching. The
bird’s throat is green, then a flash of scarlet, then green, back and forth, in
sync with tiny movements of its head. A
ruby-throated hummingbird, I think, as the words come slowly back to me from
the hours I spent as a child looking at pictures of birds and memorizing their
names. Minutes pass. I make a micro-move, and the bird buzzes to
the next tree and sits down on another tiny twig.
I will never thoughtlessly snap off those twigs again. They make fine perches.
