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A bird in hand is worth celebrating

Breezes blew smells of growing grass and mountain flowers through open doors into the shop where I was painting window screens at a ranch on the slopes of Colorado's Rocky Mountains.

I heard music from hummingbird wings and saw the iridescent flash of green and red as a broad-tailed hummingbird flew by me into the shop and stopped against a small window in the wall opposite the big, roll-up doors. Where sunlight shone in, there was a way to fly out, the bird thought, and it struggled against the hard, unyielding glass.

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I walked across the shop, reached out, and trapped the bird against the glass. I closed my hand around him and felt a very small, very light motion in my hand as I walked back across the shop into the outdoors. I felt a much larger stirring inside me at being able to touch, hold, and help this tiny wild bird.

I extended my arm and opened my hand. The bird flew straight up, so fast - a flash of brilliant colors in sunshine - out of sight.

I stood a moment. Then I went back to work, lighter on my feet and singing of sun and freedom.


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