Precarious Life

I climb the ladder, grasping hold of the gutter at the second step, hanging on as I reach the top. I scoop leaves with one hand, careful not to overreach. I retreat to the ground and move the ladder.

On my third ascent, before reaching the top, I’m dismayed. A tiny bird in iridescent green and purple, has been driven from the sky by wind and rain. It is perfectly still, eyes closed as though in a nest. But it is on the roof, mere inches from the eaves. Nothing else, not even leaves, near.

Carefully, I cup this little treasure, hoping the warmth I feel is not merely reflected heat from the roof. I croon to it, but it does not move. I feel no heartbeat.

I’ve had to release my grip on the gutter. I descend slowly, talking to this beautiful creature.

Holding its lifeless body, I wonder – is this the one that paused beside me at the end of summer?

I had been reading with my back to the vermillionaire plant – a favorite of hummingbirds. At the buzz of wings by my ear, I turned. We stared at each other for a moment as it hovered before speeding off over the roof.

I find a small box, the perfect size, decorated with rocks and pearls and a heart-shaped design. I will have a ceremony in the spring, maybe place this small coffin beside another vermillionaire. A reminder that life is precious – and precarious.