The Hummingbird and the Fly
The heat broke, so it seemed like a good idea
to stand outside and stare into space.
Specifically, the space between the trees
above the canyon
at the level of my deck,
maybe one hundred yards out.
I’m not a good judge of distance.
I practice relaxing my eyes
(or is it my mind?)
and that cluster of trees seems to merge
into a giant amoeba-like mass, swaying and pulsing.
Shapes dissipate into holographic forms
and I begin to perceive a movement of energy
where I thought there was nothing.
I look down and a hummingbird
is drinking from scarlet buds
on plants that grow below the deck.
Gray-brown with an iridescent back,
Wings flap and flap and flap as
she hovers in front of me for a moment
or two before flying off to the right.
I turn my head to follow her,
my gaze landing on a fly perched
on the neon green arm of a plastic chair.
He crawls up the length and around the side.
Maybe he is looking for water too?
Or perhaps a place to rest
before he begins the long journey across the canyon,
which to him must seem as big
as the city is to me.
I was only going to write about the hummingbird.
But then I thought,
“Why should the fly be any less remarkable?”