Tiny miracles carried on the Wing.

One of my favorite posters had the caption "I don't believe in miracles, I depend on them!  
I think I'm one of those people, always searching for miracles, signs, mysteries, etc.   I've seen my share over the years, mostly having to do with wildlife sightings, unexpected surprises, and fortunate encounters.  Heck, it's a miracle every year to see our yard plants come into bloom when I thought for sure they had perished the year before.   I guess it's all a matter of perspective-what you consider a miracle.  I cast a wide net on the subject to be sure.  

It had been over four months since Kino started his new adventure, and I was still struggling with
our loss.   To be honest I had also lost a great birding buddy and my neighbor in that same two week period.   I had hoped they would all meet up and help each other along the way.   Yet I still felt guilty that I couldn't be there with Kino, and hoped for a sign that he was doing fine.   You see, we did everything together, and he relied on us to be there always.  Once he had to have an ear operation and the attendant told us to come back at 4:00 to pick him up.  I told him Kino wouldn't last that long,  but he persisted.   "We do this all the time, don't worry, he'll be fine."  I replied, "We'll go out for a long lunch and be back in two hours to check,  just in case."  In two hours the attendant practically met us at the door "He's ready to go," he told us as Kino rushed to see us.  I laughed inside. He must have been a handful when he woke up and we weren't there.

 

I suppose our loss impacted my writing as well.  I have had many nice adventures, but on Sundays I seemed to always find myself on Mount Lemmon, searching for answers and remembering my best friend on the slow descent down the long winding road.   My searches seemed fruitless, and even our favorite radio station for our mountain rides switched their 60's and 70's agenda to "I love the Eighty's," weekends.  I stopped singing.  I stopped writing.   My solo hikes sometimes lasted way past sunset, and I would feel my way back through the switchbacks as Common Poorwills echoed their mournfully whistled song off the rocky hillsides.   I would have to find my way alone on this quest, searching for answers in the darkness, knowing no one else could find them for me.  

It was another Sunday, and I was still feeling the effects of dehydration from some morning hikes in Madera Canyon.   I had planned on another afternoon hike on Mount Lemmon, but only had an hour of light left after visiting a few roadside birding spots.   I realized I was too weak for another night hike and it wouldn't bring me any of the answers I sought.  I found myself pulling over on the way home at Molino Canyon Vista.  I have had some great sightings there as of late, including 2 Montezuma Quail, which exploded in flight practically at my feet.   This is actually the way this species is often encountered, as they use camouflage and the ability to stay still in the presence of danger as a survival technique.  

I walked up past the dry waterfall, which still attracted many birds, who drank precious drops of water from a fissure in the rocks.  There was a nice patch of grasses and under story plants just above the dry stream bed, and my seat on a comfortable rock afforded beautiful views of sycamores, ash, and other riparian specialties.  The last remaining sunlight was slowly climbing up the rocky hillside to the east.   The area seemed to have a aura of mystery about it which even the passing highway traffic couldn't penetrate.   

I began my conversation with my lost friend, telling him in my mind how I missed him, and how much he meant to me.  I talked of the great times we had, how we love him still and want the best for him.  I told him he would always be in my heart where ever he was, but I wanted him to be happy.  I told him it was ok to move on, that we would be fine in time.    It was a great conversation as I expressed my thoughts in this serene setting.   Lastly, I mentioned that I was hoping for a sign he was doing well, yet admitted I had no idea how he could even convey this to me.   

It had only been fifteen minutes, yet I felt so much relief.  I slowly rose and walked casually along the grasses toward the stream, listening to some Blue Grosbeaks calling nearby.  I  stopped as I felt the tickling of tiny wings brushing against the back of my neck.   As it hovered in place for what seemed like ten seconds I could hear its mantra-like humming sending soft vibrations against my sensitive skin.  It was a Broad-billed Hummingbird to be sure yet I never saw it.  I was mystified as to why it came so close, as there certainly weren't any nests to protect in this open area.  I then remembered my last request to Kino, and admitted this would be a perfect way of delivering the message I sought.  It's meaning was as clear as a pristine mountain pool.  

Was it a miracle, a message.   Who knows.   But somehow I felt different afterward, more assured.  I didn't worry for his safety because I know he is doing fine.  I stayed home this Sunday and worked on the yard.   I'm calling it a miracle, a sign carried on hummingbird's wings.   Thank you for your appreciation of all the miracles around us, in all their forms.  

Ps.  Here is a link to my favorite card which reminds me of Kino, and perhaps myself a little.   It's card number 446 on the left side of the page.   All Who Wander Are Not Lost