I could tell that the hummingbirds were getting ready to leave for warmer climes. One week they were at the feeder every time I glanced out my window. The next week, I hardly saw any. With a twinge of sadness, I silently bid my tiny friends farewell and wished them safe travels and a fine winter.
Days passed without my spotting a single visitor. But I left the feeder up in case a straggler stopped by for a final few sips before continuing on its long journey. You never know. Then, one afternoon when I was noticing the way a golden shaft of late afternoon sunlight was filtering through the woods that surround my home, suddenly a hummingbird appeared. For the longest moment it hovered upright, facing my window exactly in the center of the shaft of light, its iridescent body glowing and golden. I held my breath in wonder until it zipped away as quickly as it had come.
I have to confess that I thought it was telling me goodbye, and maybe its spectacular display was a thank you for the summer treats and a promise to return. I hope so. I’ll remember the sight of it when I look out a snowy window this winter at the empty shepherd’s hook where the feeder hangs from early April until I’m absolutely sure that the last tiny guest has departed for the year.
I keep a little treasure box in a corner of my mind to hold special memories of the beauty life on Earth offers. I plan to take it with me when I go. I have a favorite fantasy that in the afterlife we sometimes get to sit around a splendid bonfire with sentient beings from planets all over the universe swapping stories about what it was like on our home-worlds. Somebody asks me where I came from and when I say “Earth,” everybody gasps. “Earth!” they murmur; “Earth!” “Tell us, are all the stories true?” Our planet, it turns out, has quite a reputation.
“Well,” I answer smiling, “I’m not sure what you have heard. But it’s true that almost anything you can imagine has happened there–and then some.” Then I pull out my little treasure box and set it down in front of me. “What I would like to show you tonight is a bit of its wondrous beauty.”
What happens when you share around the campfire is that your stories appear as vivid, three-dimensional holograms, complete with textures and fragrances and sounds. It’s a wholly captivating experience. I show my new friends mountainous clouds and white sand beaches, flowered meadows and deep pine woods. I sneak in a few little movies of baby animals, and some of soaring eagles, and elephants and giant leaping whales. And when my presentation is about to come to a close, I pull out the memory that holds the little hummingbird, beating its translucent wings as it hovers in golden afternoon sunlight, offering its farewell.
I don’t know whether the afterlife holds such visits with our universe fellows, but I do know its wise to keep a treasure box of beautiful memories. You never know when sharing one or two of them might come in handy. Even if you’re pulling them out only for yourself on a cold, hard day when your heart needs a spark of warmth and your face needs a gentle smile.
May your treasure box be filled to overflowing and grow richer every day.
Warmly,
Susan
Image by Pexels from Pixabay