In February, there is only a hint of what will be. A damp chill still hangs in the air. lurking in the shadows, but there's a hint of warmth, though perhaps that is only hopeful imagining when the clear sun shines.
For the most part, life remains sluggish to move from its winter slumber, but a close eye can tell you all about the newness that is building just beneath the surface, soon to unfold from green shoots and stems.
One pace that never slows, but for the coldest of days, is that of the Anna's hummingbird. Their wingbeats hum with a delicate fury; their lives moving at a rapidity that make our own time scales stretch to eons. Somehow, it is here - on what would seem to be a dangerous cusp between winter and spring, ripe with uncertainty - that these tiny creatures begin building their first nests of the season.
Imperceptible at first, one female Anna's begins knitting together the safety of a new home for her soon to be young. She gathers silken spider webs, moss, and lichens in the crook of a small branch of a Cottonwood tree. The bark of the trunk provides backing, a gentle stream runs below, and a sprawling willow tree provides the perfect nearby perch for her to watch from afar.
February for her is built in little steps - piece by piece she assembles a sanctuary for the promise of tomorrow.
February for me is built in little steps - moment by moment I make it through, trying to pull together what silken threads of strength I can to believe in a tomorrow's worth.
In March, there is a change so subtle it is easily overlooked. Below ground something is stirring, slowly reaching through the soil for the light above. At her nest, all is still. Her fervor of activity slows and she remains as still as a hummingbird might ever be.
While I know she must be incubating eggs tucked below, I can only guess at when they might hatch, but this will keep me coming back and coming back is what I need in my life right now.
It has been said before that March cannot be trusted - its sudden and unpredictable shifts towards spring and back again to the cold grip of winter come without warning. The Earth warms by noticeable degrees, the light shifts, then it snows and hails, and all progress seems halted. There is only the hunkering down and holding close to warmth that any creature in these climates can rely on, myself included.
But even amidst this tumultuousness, day by day reveals slow change. At first it appears as though the nest is abandoned, with nothing left to it, but beneath layers of collected feathers and woven moss, two small buds of life are born into a world they still cannot see or touch or know. At first they look nothing like what they will be and I find myself hoping the same for my own process of growth a I face what feels like a frightening pace of change.
What seemed to take aching ages at first becomes a remarkable rate of growth. Day-by-day, the nestlings seem to evolve into entirely new beings. At first, they are featherless, flightless, helpless creatures completely at the whim of the elements. Then feathers start to appear, their eyes open to the bright world around them, and they stretch the new tissues that will be the wings that carry them forward in only a few short days.
Anna's hummingbird nestlings only remain in the nest for around sixteen days before they fledge. They are entirely dependent on only their mother, who tirelessly returns every fifteen or so minutes to feed them.
I am amazed each time I visit the nest. How can they grow at such speed? This miracle of nature that is small and yet unfolding at a rate that is beyond our human scope of things. Most passersby do not even notice what is before them and I hold this wonder close to my heart as I weather each day of change alongside these tiny creatures.
Then, one day they are out of the nest and so am I. I wonder how they will navigate this new world of theirs and I love for their species boldness. I wonder how I will navigate this new world I am facing, thrust from the safety I have spent so long fighting for in my own healing journey. I hope my wings are as strong as theirs. I have to trust they are.
- S.
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