The morning of the first day of May is atypically cold, windy and gloomy as I walked out towards my car. Another new day begins, and so does a new month.
The days are getting longer. As my vision gets worse, being both near-sighted and far-sighted, night reading is a pain. Therefore, the hour before the sunset and the dinner cooking is my prime time for reading, when I can enjoy the broad daylight in the backyard, reading the small prints without any hindrance, racing against the sunset.
So was the yesterday afternoon. The backyard is always quiet during the time slot. I put on my jacket and wrapped myself in a blanket. The wind was still chilly in the last day of April. As I concentrated on my book, I heard the wings fluttering in the air. Without raising my head, I know it is from a hummingbird. However, the sound came closer and closer towards my direction. I lifted up my head, and there flew a hummingbird right in front of me, its neck bright and colorful, its feathers fluttering nonstoppingly like powered- electric fan, its eyes staring, and what’s more threatening, its long sharp beak pointing at my forehead. For a second, I felt that my existence must have angered her, and she could have picked me with its beak if endangered. I did not dare to move a bit, letting her eyes look into mine inquiringly. It must be my radiating kindness that disarmingly comforted her:). She turned back and landed at the tip fork of one avocado tree leave, swaying in the wind. She rested for a few minutes before heading down to the flower stand, where vines of passion fruit hang heavily and crowdedly over. She examined this side and the other, high and low, attentively. Though I don’t know what she was scrutinizing, I know she must be selecting a place to breed her baby. The bird flew away but came back the second time after a while, anchoring (? Positioning?) on the exact same spot before shooting herself out of sight again.
In the last day of April, my encounter with the hummingbird stirred inside me a hope of new life, not knowing what is awaiting me -- sadness or merriment?
