Hummingbird

Thrumming of hummingbird wings, sending shivers,

Shock waves through a hovering heart.

Fluff and feathers, beak and feet,

Pure energy, tiny warrior.

Flaws like stars

My flaws and weaknesses are more numerous than grains of sand, and like the stars, God knows them all by name.

To not be able to think of a weakness denies one the chance for self-improvement, I believe, which means that life is as good as it will ever get, that we're as good as we'll ever get. And that’s a depressing thought. But what happens when the thing you’d like to improve upon benefits yourself and not others?

You see, I have a hard time telling people ”no,” denying them my time, my energy, because the guilt I feel when I’m not available for someone has, up until very recent years, outweighed any sense of self-preservation. And I am tired. This is my weakness, wanting to help at all cost, not reserving any energy for all the things that I’m personally going through, which leaves me broken, battered, and lying on the floor. My flaw is accepting less from people than what I give. I expect more and end up disappointed. Or maybe my flaw is not sharing of myself as easily as others seem to. Maybe if I forced my opinions, suggestions, stories, issues on others as easily as they force them upon me, well, maybe I’d be in a healthier position. But that’s not me. I assume that if you care, you’ll ask. If you care, you won’t interrupt.

I am empathetic, which means people tend to trust me with their stories, often with stories nearest their heart. And this, this is a strength. I gain so much from these interactions. I gain trust and friendship and so much insight into this wonderful, amazing mess called humanity. And I’m honored. Unfortunately, this also means that people will trust me with every single issue they have. But I can get selfish and angry; like when a girl (who didn’t even like me) non-drunkenly cried on my shoulder in a bar because of something going on with her dad and all I wanted to do was run. It was during my ex’s first deployment. I was having a hard time. I had just recently found out he had a second kid he’d neglected to tell me about. (That’s an entirely different tale.) I wanted to dance and laugh and forget with my friends, but instead, I was stuck comforting someone who I KNEW didn’t like me, and yet I still, to this day, feel awful about trying to get away from that situation as quickly as I could so I could enjoy my night. Selfish. I’m a terrible person. Guilty.

But what I’ve come to realize is that I can work on finding a balance. I’ll never not feel guilty for turning away from near strangers or even enemies who need my help, but I can better serve those who truly mean something in my life if I am more emotionally well-rested, for myself and for them.

Maybe I’ll take a lesson from the stars. Maybe I’ll just be, for myself, and hopefully, people can still take comfort from that.

"Stars are not small or gentle.
They are writhing and dying and burning.
They are not here to be pretty.
I am trying to learn from them."

- Caitlyn Siehl

Longest Goodbye

I could spend forever saying "goodbye" to you if it meant you'd never walk away.

Fly Away Home

Can you imagine being the first person to look down at the world from your own personal death trap? Seeing the cotton candy clouds as you sail above them? The shades of blue you see up here, unmatched? Feeling level with the sun.

Mankind, jealous of angels, has dreamt of flying, well, since the dawn of civilization, finding its place in myths, imagination, and invention.

Icarus flew too close to the sun. Da Vinci designed flying machines. The Chinese and the French pioneered advancements in flight, and as humanity is wont to do with any new invention, turned flight into punishment and weaponry. Lanterns, gliders, balloons, countless trials, successes and failures, leading us to where we are today. Flying farther than the moon.

Ever since I was little, flight has been a part of my life. My dad works at an airplane manufacturing company, as did his father before him. He’s worked every department: painting, sand-blast, water-jet, punching parts, chasing parts. It’s taken a toll on his health, as he inhaled the finest shards of metal, the toxic paint, and the ‘sand’ used to smooth out parts. He’s destroyed his back and his feet, leading to multiple back and foot surgeries and developed a number of other health issues because of the chemicals. I see my dad’s sacrifices every time I fly and  it makes me sad and it makes me feel safe. He’s always kept me safe. There’s a specific green paint they use on some of their parts and I see glimpses of this green as the flaps on the wings open and close. I always try to sit next to the wings so that I can see the green. Because maybe, just maybe, my dad painted that part. And he’s with me.

I guess this isn’t so much about an event, as it is about an invention, an invention that stopped the sky from being a limit, an invention that every day men and women build and improve upon, so that we can travel, see loved ones, explore, discover. And reach, always reach.

So I'll just sit here and watch airplanes, take off and fly, and think about where they're going and where they've come from.

Ride the Wind

Floating. Just. Floating.

Eyes closed. Wings open. I can’t feel the difference between my feathers and the warm wind.

Drifting.

I rose with the sun, shook the night off with a tousle and bolted into the dawning sky. I could see everything, sparkling, covered in dew. I could hear the world waking up with me.

Plans for the day: Eat, fly, eat, play, nap, eat. I mean, it’s not a very exciting life, but it’s all mine. And it’s beautiful.

Focus. This is my life, too. Focus. Focusing. Always attentive.

But you know what I get to see? Mice, scurrying, gathering nuts and seeds and grasses. Hunting in their own little way. Bees, buzzing, pollen-laden, heavy. The dash of a squirrel, water lapping on a lake shore, the glint of a fish just beneath the surface. I see it all, because I watch. And it’s beautiful.

And primal.

Other birds are awake right now, too. They would be the easiest. I know the way they move. Squirrels, though, squirrels will still surprise me sometimes and pull some ninja-jedi maneuver that will take them just out of my grasp. Too bad for them, I like a challenge.

There are fields for miles and miles out here. Rich with life. Rich with food.

Feathers. Heartbeat. Flash. Wings up, talons down. Dive. Squeak. Lift.

Eat.

I perch above my favorite on-ramp. Watching the cars pass beneath me. Creating their own heat, creating their own wind. And feeling it all. The cars passing underneath are almost hypnotic and I drift off, lulled by the movement.

A very angry, very loud honk shakes me from my reverie. So upset, people are always so upset. Ruffling my own feathers, I look around. Nothing much has changed. The sun is higher. The squirrels and rabbits are resting in the midday heat.

Cars are still moving beneath me. I wonder about their lives, often. Always rushing, whirring.

Opening my wings, stretching the tips out, balancing, pressing down, and letting go. Focus. Feel. There’s so much to feel.

Flying is like music, notes, gliding, smooth. Smooth like whiskey, smooth like water.

Tuck my wings and spin, spiral. Unfold. Catch the wind.

My day is filled with the same thing, over and over again. But so different. So much movement, so much life. Everything around me tells a tale. Everything around me has something to show. Even the wind.

Especially the wind.

You could see it too, if you just tried.