Reflections

By Todd Adams

I was watering our purple phlox with an absent mind, ruminating on things that might have been or worrying about those to come, when I caught sight of a dark shape flashing around my legs. I stood stock still, fearing it was a giant wasp or some other stinging creature, but then an iridescent, hunter-green form flitted toward the stream of water. My shoulders fell, my jaw relaxed, and reflected fire filled my mind. It was a ruby-throated hummingbird. 

I’d never been this close to one before and watched spellbound as it twirled, leaped, and pirouetted about, painting a whole universe in sparkling greens and purples. I dared not move, not even so much as to let the hose waver an inch. What did it want? I did not know, but as water poured out, time stretched out, too. Seconds seemed like minutes. Minutes seemed like days. The past and the future melded together into one present moment as the creature darted in and around the water without ever stopping long enough to drink.

I had just begun to wonder whether there was a place I could make a pool of water from which it could drink when it settled down in a bed of green leaves, its wings spread flat out to each side and its white breast bare. Then, it began to wallow about as if washing its feathers into a purer shade of white. Not once. Not twice. But three times or more it rolled about. Then, seemingly satisfied, it stopped and lay there immobile and defenseless for more than a beat or two of time. After a good rest, it gathered itself and flew off without ever having spoken a word. And I? So did I.

Todd Adams is a retired Michigan assistant attorney general with two published stories and a self-published book. He also writes a blog about his learning experience in writing novels at “The things I did wrong in writing my first novel and hope to avoid in my second.” https://toddbadams.substack.com/p/the-things-that-i-did-wrong-in-my.”