Today it’s the hummingbirds that save me.
Not because I see one. Because I don’t.
Every year, the broad-tailed hummingbirds
arrive at our feeders the third week of April.
This year, they’ve yet to arrive.
How many other joys have I been awaiting
that are yet to materialize?
It is hard to spend a life waiting, and yet
this one impatience I meet with trust.
Every year, there are hummingbirds.
They return. And when they come,
we’ll feed them. We’ll admire their furious
wings. We’ll forget they were late.
We’ll delight in their curious hum.