I’m always looking for signs. Maybe it’s a product of my religious upbringing? Or possibly a by-product of my lifelong fascination with indigenous cultures and languages? Or possibly a combination of the two? This propensity of mine always has me reading into events and situations that otherwise might go totally unnoticed.
And now is a time when we could all use a sign. It doesn’t even have to be a positive one. IMO, even a sign of decline or disaster is useful information. Like the Coronavirus tests that aren’t available to any of us. Maybe if it were possible to simply KNOW were we stand, we could mount a defense? Or feel relief? The dread of not knowing is often worse than the assurance of being infected and knowing how to deal with it. Truth is never something to fear, and now is hardly an exception. Or at least that’s my current mood as I try to grapple with the new normal.
And so there I was, subconsciously searching for something to grasp onto, to help me make sense of this otherwise bewildering new world. Any sign would have been better than none. And then, it appeared.
Amidst all the chaos, there was a sign. If someone hadn’t been paying attention, we would have missed it completely. My son Caelen came running into the kitchen yelling “mamá, hay un bicho gigante en la ventana”. We all went running into the newly redesigned sunroom, and there she was, desperately fluttering her wings, colliding over and over with the big window panes that function as the defacto walls of the room. I walked over and quietly approached, cupping my hands around her and gently bringing her down to chest level so I could see her better.
As I opened my hands, I was astounded by the miracle that I was holding. A hummingbird, quiet and inquisitive, was sitting in my bare hands staring back at me. The beauty of this moment contrasted sharply with the surrounding mess, which I barely even noticed except for when I nearly tripped over several knickknacks on my way to the back door, where I tried to free her into the wild. For the first few seconds of freedom, she didn’t want to leave. Or maybe she didn’t realize she was free? And then all too suddenly she flew off after we snapped a few pics for Instagram.
I’m a long time believer that our encounters with nature are both portents of things to come and reminders of how we got here. The sea turtles you encounter on a deserted beach, a lone crane obliviously frolicking in the pond behind your apartment building in the middle of a sprawling city are reminders that Mother Nature was here first. Maybe this is all happening because we have lost all respect for her and seem to be insistent upon destroying this planet that gives us sustenance? More random thoughts and questions that will never be answered…
But for a brief moment, I felt hope. Maybe we’ll be free of the wrath of this scourge that has decimated our well-being, our social lives, our mental wherewithal, our economy? Maybe soon I’ll look up and realize that I’m free again, all too suddenly, and again fly away to far away places, wherever I’m needed to interpret, translator, or perform…
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