Only a few more days and spring will announce its presence. Dormant bulbs of tulips, hyacinths, and daffodils will shoot their leafy blades out of the once frozen garden. Robins will appear, proudly sticking their red, downy breasts out. Buds and leaves will begin filling the naked limbs of cherry blossom trees and the soft sunlight from the long awaited season will filter through our homes’ thick window panes.
Animals, plants and humans rejoice. Perennials are pruned and annuals are planted, giving beauty to our yard when summertime comes.
Spring gives us soft drizzles and light breezes, strumming in wonderful tunes all windchimes hung in balconies and porches. Spring is the season of rebirth. That is what we know of it.
After weeks of somber clouds and rain here at home, we welcome the blessing of a perfect weather - the temperature is mild, the sun is out and not a single cloud hang above us. It was all enough to put my neighbors and I in high spirits.
Yet, an odd thing happened outside our balcony today. Swinging and clanging along our flower windchime was a tiny hummingbird, a mere clump hanging upside down. Hummingbirds are known for their brisk speed. Blink an eye and it is gone. But this one didn’t move at all. Its slender claws gripped the rusty petal edges of the metal windchime.
“Nick, is it sleeping or is it dead?” I asked my husband. (To me it looked like it was just napping). He too wondered, knocking on the sliding door, hoping it would wake up and take flight. Still, no movement.
Coming to the thought that something is wrong, I grabbed two plastic grocery bags and headed out the sliding door. With one of the bags, I slowly took hold of the bird, sliding it off the windchime, confirming what I most dreaded. It is dead.
How ironic, I told myself, that the season of rebirth is almost here and I pluck a once living creature, putting it in its place of peace. It is very humbling what I was asked to witness - life’s fragility. Moments such as this one help remind me to always seize the day and breathe.
