To Fly Away
“C’mere,” my husband called. “You have to see this.”
Curious, I put down the vegetables I was chopping for dinner and went to the garage.
“What is it?” I asked, looking around.
He nodded upwards. At first, I didn’t notice anything unusual. Then I saw a tiny dark figure, perched on an exposed pipe above the washing machine. A hummingbird, who had flown into the garage and became trapped.
“I’ve been trying to get him out, but he won’t come down.”
I watched the tiny bird trembling, bewildered in this alien habitat. My heart dissolved, “Oh, the poor thing!”
I noticed the door to the side yard was open; the large one facing the street, closed.
“Did you try opening the garage door?” I asked.
“I did. It didn’t work.”
“Show me,” I said.
He pushed the button, and the front panel groaned, rolled up and stopped. Alarmed, the tiny bird took flight again, buzzing like a drone, eventually landing in the narrow space between the now-horizontal door and the ceiling. A moment later, he darted out and made another pass through the garage, never dropping down to either exit where freedom beckoned.
My husband and I tried guiding him with a broom, but it only increased the tiny creature’s distress and agitation.
“Do we have a net or something,” I asked? (No.) “Maybe we could try a hose?” Quick veto.
We coached him encouragingly. “Over here! You’re so close!” We shook our heads at his foolishness. But he continued his frantic and futile attempts to fly upward.
We stood with our massive and worthless human brains, gazing at the little life we were trying helplessly to save. Finally, we gave up, left the side door open, and went inside to eat.
I couldn’t take my mind off the hummingbird, though. I was determined to figure out a solution. A couple hours earlier in a rare moment of gardening zeal, I’d broken a dead branch off our persimmon tree. I snapped it down to size, then carried it aloft into the garage with several inviting twigs quivering from the top.
I touched the bird lightly with one and it quickly flew away. I tried again. This time the fellow landed on one of the twigs. As I tried to carry it to the door, though, the “tree” jerked slightly and off he went. I paused, prayed, and patiently waited. Eventually, he hopped back onto the natural perch and looked at me with his miniature head cocked as I moved slowly, slowly, not breathing, to the door. At last, we cleared the opening, and he flew away.
As I watched him disappear into the waning light, I wondered how often I have been that hummingbird. Stuck in a job or relationship or environment that is wrong for me. Trying to cope, unable to see an alternative. Hitting the ceiling again and again.
How grateful I am for those special people who have helped me see that I belong somewhere else, lending me the courage to find a better way and fly, like a hummingbird, towards the boundless sky.