Some moments are so intense. One of those moments happened yesterday.
It is not uncommon for hummingbirds to fly into my kitchen, not any everyday occurence, but this happens several times a season.
When this does happen, I close as many of the six kitchen doors as I can, but leave the outside door open. Usually, the bird flutters about in a panic and then makes her way to a glass kitchen window where I gently cover her with my hand, holding her just tight enough to carry her to the side porch. I open my hand. With blesssed relief, the bird flies away in freedom.
Yesterday this was not the case. The bird continually flew up against the old brown tongue and groove ceiling. In time, she began to take breaks perching on hanging pots and pans or on the ledge above the window.
Before long she was off on an all about frantic flutter. I tried to guide her to the open door, with no success. She flew into an active cobweb beside the refrigerator and immediately stopped moving. She was in a very odd position. I couldn't believe she could be dead so soon.
I tore apart the web, as the large spider made her way toward the significant catch. I plucked out the bird with one hand and placed in my other opened hand. Carefully I removed as much of the sticky web from her feathers as I could. There was still no movement.
We went outside. She remained motionless. In time I set her down on the clear glass of a coffee table. There she stayed unmoving. She looked so cold and out of place on the glass, I once again picked her up and placed her in my cupped hand and started breathing softly on her. She moved slightly.
I stood up, opened my hand fully to the bright sunshine.
The hummingbird flew up high into her own future.
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