A Call

I was flapping my wings as fast as I could. They were spinning at high frequencies like the broad and bulky blades of windmills in a field that I always passed with the greatest curiosity. What were they doing there and why? I could never guess or enter this place because the price for this knowledge was too high. Besides, you don't need to know if you're a bird, and the only limit is the sky.

Forlorn flight has always been my favourite. I saw all the calyxes of flowers that attracted me with their splendour, but I could not bring myself to touch any of them. Not today. Today I decided to visit a good friend of mine, also a hummingbird, who lived on the other side of the forest, across the river.

The rain drummed on the greenery, waking up all the lazy buggers in the forest, forced to find a dry shelter. I, for a change, could confidently shake my body fifty-five times per second to shed off the rain in flight, saving my precious time to the max.

I just couldn't afford a break. Wilbur waited. I couldn't let him down, whatever the weather.

What is rain compared to an earthquake? Not that it matters when you're a bird, but it must have been a drama nonetheless. I saw so many of them fighting for their lives, innocent but severely tried when Mother Earth decided to strike by surprise.

Sometimes I think it’s some kind of reprisal, but I can never guess for what sins. Antecedent carefree generations? Lack of learning? Failure to implement new policies and quit halfway? For us hummingbirds, such a tragedy would only equate to a tornado or a forest fire, God forbid.

I stopped for a while, idling. Hovering over the sunny petals, my head found itself in a very sensual delight, and my beak was left without a chance to taste the sweet-juicy nectar. The lion's roar recalled Wilbur's courtship call. Oh my God! He was so wonderful! No one has sung for me yet. Even Matthew's crimson crown and gorget with barbules opening like Venetian blinds couldn't compare to Wilbur's falsetto. A declaration of pure beauty! I felt like a chamber concert intended only for my ears. If I could, I would buy out the house to be the only one to hear his performance. To be the only witness to his quick leaps through the air and a series of daring glides around me, carefully using the right angle to the sun to flaunt his purple plumage.

His painstaking way of impressing me was bewildering, while I could only rely on my female tail feathers to produce a sort of primal and non-vocal appreciation, nothing more. The first time he did it, I knew I was going to fall in love right away. So here I come, my sweetest prince.

In the meantime, I swallowed an insect in flight. I could not resist. My stomach had had enough time to growl like a thunderstorm. I didn't even notice what it was. A fly or a spider? Or maybe both, a fly in the net. Almost like me.

There is a tinge of a difference between solitude that is scary and solitude that is empowering. Every time the scary one happens, you long for the immediate return of the other. That's why I take this kind of flight every week. To meet invigorating solitude before I plunge into Wilbur's world. His world works better on me than the world of girls.

Hermenegilda and Coachella had such a row about parenting last time. A lot of times their behaviour makes me think, “Girls, it doesn't have to be that loud!” I can't wait to finally build my own spider silk nest away from prying eyes and immerse myself in my own happiness. Then I'll show them!

The forest was my closest canvas of far-flung layers of tall trees, falling foliage, long lashes of boughs stretching on endlessly, where I could canter win all the squeaky screams of monkeys, gorillas and orangutans, always leaving room for escape. It left me feeling like the king of the jungle even though I had my right one securely strapped to the back of my head.

I flew behind a green veil after the rain, casting a luminous, blinding light into my eyes. A fluorescent forest flow guided me through it.

I saw myself vibrating in the centre of a hurricane vortex, being taken and removed as part of an unspoken deal between me and Mother Nature until I surely saw the brightest light. The one that never goes out. The one that will haunt me forever.

I emerged from behind a curtain of rain like an actor on a stage. The strong green of the forest clearing greeted me with Wilbur's broad arms. I hope tea and biscuits, um, I meant rainbow flower nectar, will make up for all the hardships of this journey.

– THE END –

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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