The Hummingbird

The door that leads unto my terrace is usually left open. In the tropics one’s living space is both inside and out. Although a recent homestyle fashion craze in northern climes, here it’s the natural and historic way to live. The sun, the breezes, the geckos and occassionally a dog pay homage to my living room and kitchen.

The other day a hummingbird (un colibri) flew in through the door and tried to fly out through the windows. At first I tried shooing it in the direction of the door, but it stuck to the glass flapping its wings, and then it flew to another window and repeated its futile exercise.

Shooing didn’t work. I picked a newspaper out of the waste paper basket and folded it in fours. My idea was if it were stong enough the hummingbird might perch on one end and would hopefully stay there until I carried it outside. I gently walked toward the bird flapping futily at the window. “If you would just trust me I can get you out of here.” I told the bird. Not that I thought the bird could understand me, I talk to myself, my computer, the geckos, my microwave all the time. I’m not crazy, just a woman past her prime who lives alone.

The miracle was, the bird actually perched on the end of the newspaper and stayed there while I carried the newspaper outside. Then it flew away.