A December Hummingbird

December always begins with a string of clear, cold days. This was one of them. I walked home from the bus stop, head down, pace quick, headphones in my ears. The air churned around me, crisp and ancient, and bled of sun. I kept my hands in my pockets. My breath felt hot against the wind. Suddenly, a flash of pink. I stopped. A hummingbird hovered above a yellow-flowered bush in someone’s front yard. She flowed, there, iridescent. A row of pink feathers showed when she turned to the side, two long stripes along her neck. Otherwise she was a deep ocean-green. She faced me for a moment. Music still played in my ears, so I could only see the vibration of her wings as they blurred. She tilted her head, and then flew away. I looked around the usually busy sidewalks, and I found that I was the only one there, standing breathlessly at the edge of dusk, in the cold December wind.