Now that the rain has stopped for a bit, and it is warmer, the hummingbird returns. I catch her possibility on the edge of my visual field. While I wonder about hummingbirds, I also think about how much goes on at just the edge of our vision, what we turn our heads to see full on, what we ignore. What have we been trained to pay attention to? What will we train ourselves to pay attention to? Or ignore?
On the periphery
Motion
The hummingbird has returned
To the columbine.
When I turn I see her full on,
Small green almost alien
In her movements.
Why is it bird men
Get all the colors?
Her mate with the flashy
Ruby throat
Is elsewhere.
She is green, only green,
Hums on the edge of green bushes
Mines the columbine
For nectar
Disappears,
Leaves me with so many questions:
Where is he, of the ruby throat?
What do they do in the rain?
How do they keep flying?
I remember fairy tales
Stories of hummingbird eggs
A delicacy some people ate.
Maybe they still do.
I saw a picture once
Of a hummingbird at rest.
Of course they have to rest,
Nest,
Lay eggs,
Raise little hummingbirds.
How do they teach them to fly,
So I can catch their motion
Out the side of my eye
On the periphery?
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