The Visitor

As I finished drying the morning dishes, something moved in the air to my left. When I turned, I saw a ruby-throat hummingbird flying through our great room. In the mornings the room is filled with light from large plate glass windows and sliding doors that we often leave open during the day since everyone kept walking through the screen as they looked out at the view. I guess the bird couldn't discern the difference between indoors and out.

I quickly closed all the blinds and shut the front door to eliminate light except at the doorway where the bird had entered. I knew he would tire quickly as he sought escape and banged his beak against the glass at the bottom of a front window. When I got to him, it took several tries before I could cup a hand close to him. Finally he calmed against me, his soft green feathers vibrating lightly, so I covered him in both hands and walked him to the doorway. I stood on the deck at the railings and released him to the sky. My whole body smiled at this unexpected visit of just five minutes or so.

Since then I have thought often about how I closed off the light so the hummingbird could find the "real light" that would take him toward home. I remember times I have been in the dark looking for an opening, some light that would bring me back to myself. Spirit works like that, sometimes closing off the other light sources that won't get us back on our own path and shining brightly in ways that show us the way home.