My grandmother called me hummingbird,
because of fragile wings,
but you do not have to be strong, she said.
You do not have to carry the weight of the world
on your wings, rushing from flower to flower.
You only have to follow the beat of your heart,
let the air hold you as it always has.
Tell me about the quiet moments, yours,
and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile, the day unfolds.
Meanwhile, light dances on leaves,
flowers open in brief, brilliant bloom,
and the hummingbirds, swift and delicate,
trace their paths through the air.
Whoever you are, no matter how burdened,
the garden offers its quiet to you,
calling you like the hum of wings—
over and over reminding you
of your place in the pulse of life.
