To hum

The hummer is a precious gift.

 

Lighter than an ounce with feathers,

gowned in glittering and iridescent

robe, rubies red at its neck, it hovers

and hums through life.

 

Some call them sacred

as they pause above fragrant

altars of time, sipping

the essence of life through

the straw of their long beaks,

mining the nectar of love

from the depths

of each blossom’s throat.

 

Wilted flowers call for more

than the water of tears.

Raging fires are not quenched,

drop by drop.

 

Hummers gently lead us

in our own liberating dance,

teaching us how—

How to see light,

how to heal.

How to do all

that we can.

How to hum.

 

*   *   *

Hummingbird — In Memoriam. For Margot Larson, whose enjoyment in life at this time of year was sitting in her garden patio, waiting for the hummingbirds to come.  Hummingbird photo and poem by Mary O’Connor © 2016


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