The Tiny Visitor

She flew in the house and into the French doors. She didn’t realize they were closed. Her wings flapped more rapidly than usual, as she tried to find a way out. I could hear the worry in her wings. She quickly turned back in the direction from which she came. She crashed hard into the glass and fell to the floor. She lay there stunned. I immediately went over and cupped her into my hands. I gave her time to rest. Her tiny eyes opened and closed. Her chest rose and fell as her heart beat fast to recover. I waited to feel her wings flutter or her body buzz. I prayed that her breath would continue. We both waited. Her heartbeat slowed. Thankfully, her eyes continued to blink.

A few minutes went by, I opened my hand ever so slowly. She remained. It wasn’t time. I continued to sit with her quietly on my couch. Not long after, I felt her body pulse. Once again, I went outside onto the sunny deck and slowly opened my hand. This time she flew. She didn’t fly away immediately. Instead, she hovered and looked directly at me for several seconds. The seconds felt like minutes. She was hanging in the air in front of me on purpose. Was she scolding me for leaving the doors open on a sunny day?  Or was she thanking me for giving her a caring and protected place to recover? Perhaps it was a little of both. 

Then she zipped away.