The Hummingbird

I dreamed that a hummingbird landed on my outstretched finger. It wasn’t afraid, but I was. Not afraid of it, but afraid for it. It was too delicate. I felt it had entrusted me with its well-being, that I was now responsible for its safety. I felt that any involuntary twitch might startle it into flight, tiny wings buzzing, tiny heart racing. It sat there weightless and unmoving, its tiny beak like a hypodermic needle, tongue like a thread darting out, tasting the salt of my skin. I froze, unwilling to even breathe lest I disturb my new found friend.

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