In the face of Nature’s overwhelming power to transform and destroy, if we are not humbled by the frailty and impermanence of all that we build and plan—our organizations, economies, heritage and traditions, our dreams and aspirations, indeed our very lives and all that we hold dear—then we are blinded by the same pride that covered Ozymandias with sand.
Beyond this thin habitable skin of a tiny planet in a remote corner of a modest galaxy floating in an eddy of relative calm in the vastness of the engines of the Creator, are powers beyond our imagination. The sky last night was colored by our sun’s minor indigestion, a hint at it’s ability to quickly end all that we do that is dependent on electrical power. Yet we shake our fists at the sky, we tiny beings who cannot even stand the weather.
Our hearts go out, but more importantly, our helping hands to the tens of thousands uprooted in this season of devastation. The road to recovery itself must first be rebuilt before it can be traveled, and long after those peddlers of the sensational, shocking, and lurid have directed our attentions to the next voyeuristic opportunities, the rebuilding will continue.
We turn now, not away from those in need but toward the people and the things that make our lives precious. We embrace them in gratitude.
On a warm, sunny day after the hurricanes had passed, when the air was still and the melodic stridulation of our autumn symphony soothed this little corner of the world, our friends the hummingbirds departed on their epic journey south.
They stayed close during long days of rain and wind, and we kept the feeders full. When the sun reappeared, they feasted on tiny insects in the meadow and the remaining few blossoms that survived the storm. They ceased their aerial jousting while they focused on consuming as many calories as possible. Far to the south, another hurricane crossed their migratory path while they lingered.
Science says that hummingbirds schedule their migration based on day length, weather conditions, and food availability, but science admits it lacks a full understanding of all the factors which influence those decisions. Days before the weather forecast predicted our first frost, and after all the storms had passed, our valiant little friends began their journey into fair winds and following seas.
We have been honored on several occasions to bear witness to the departing ritual of these tiny wonders. There are always one or two who are more comfortable in our presence, who feed undisturbed just a few feet away when we sit on the front porch, the little girl with the upturned tail feathers, the little boy with the brightest ruby ring. I remember one October day when one of our small but intrepid companions circled the house, pausing at each window until he found us in the kitchen. There he hovered for a moment looking in, and then rapidly ascended in a vertical arc, gone until spring. Let me tell you, that hover-and-swoop pulls at your heartstrings.
“His eye is on the sparrow,” says the old hymn, and the perfect timing of that journey south against all odds reminds us that we are not alone, and that chaos is not the dominant force in the universe. Therein lies our hope for the communities being rebuilt by faith and the kindest, best aspects of humanity.
Outside The Box 