Flash Memoir | Short Story

Hummingbird Visits

A freedom in the absence of belonging

Photo by on

Fresh morning dew glistened in the sun of a new day. I watched, foggy-eyed, as flickers of warmth danced above my oatmeal and grandma’s second cup of coffee. We sat watching the world come into focus from the front-row seats of our window bay. Mockingbirds echoed the opening chorus sung by robins, scissor-tails, and blue jays. A red strawberry feeder, suspended in time, hung off the edge of our trailer house. A touch of color, yet plastic like everything else, held nectar almost as sweet as the honeysuckle draped along the chainlink fence.

I wiggled in my seat as the eagerness of a toddler returned to me. “When are we going to eat cookies at the bank?” I asked, attempting to disrupt the silence, but my question was met with a single finger pressed against lined lips. It wasn’t until I noticed my grandma’s intent grin that I saw her other hand pointing toward the window.

There it was. A tiny winged miracle fluttered just outside as if it wasn’t held to the same expectations of gravity as everything else. Its grace and curiosity forced all but that moment to fade away. My grandma’s words confused me as she said, “Quiet, it’s listening to us.”