ONE AFTERNOON while vacationing in the
Cumberland Mountains, I was startled by a cry that a bird
had just flown against the window and killed itself. A few
moments later other guests brought me a female ruby-throated
hummingbird, which lay perfectly inert when placed on my
open hand. Including bill and tail, it was as long as my
palm was wide.
"This bird isn't dead," I asserted. "I
can feel its heartbeat, and its wings and head are in
natural position, even though it is limp. As soon as it gets
over its faintness, it will fly away. It is just waiting
until we aren't watching, and it can get away. Watch its
eye. It's closed now, but I suspect that pretty soon it will
peek to see if we are looking."
Before many moments the eyelid fluttered
and parted just a crack, but closed again as everyone cried
out. Then the others fell into conversation and forgot to
watch. The eye opened a bit farther and closed again. Then
as even I let my attention wander, the bird knew it and flew
like a flash. It stopped short of the windowpane and settled
on flowers in a vase. It did not fly as I slowly approached
it and cupped my hands gently over it. It fluttered a few
seconds when I lifted it off, then it lay as inert as at
first. In reply to the question of what I would do with it,
I said, "Take it outdoors and let it fly away; it's not
injured."
As time passed and the hummer showed no
more sign of life than the heartbeat that I could feel, the
others tired and went away, leaving me on the cottage steps
under the trees with the bird lying limp on my palm. I was
considering where I might put it where the family cats would
not find it before it entirely revived. In the meantime I
was carefully watching to see whether it moved.
No doubt it was perfectly aware that the
crowd had left. Several times its eyelid fluttered apart a
tiny slit. Then very slowly it righted itself until it lay
on its belly on my hand instead of on its side; but its eyes
were still closed, and its head lay flat and limp. It arched
its back like a cat when I gave it the lightest possible
fingertip stroke.
I suppose it could see through its
translucent eyelids. I turned my head to look for a safe
place to put it and was deciding on a huge dahlia flower on
a six-foot plant, when Mrs. Hummingbird settled the question
herself by flashing up into the oak tree.
Thus ended one of the greatest thrills of
my life. How tiny yet how perfect was this flying jewel of
the Creator's! How suddenly trouble befell it! "As the birds
. . . are caught in the snare; so are the sons of men snared
in an evil time, when it falleth suddenly upon them."
Ecclesiastes 9:12. But with what marvelous self-control it
had lain still in the hand of a giant! Its vigilance had
outlasted mine. It exemplified Solomon's advice: "Give not
sleep to thine eyes. . . . Deliver thyself, . . as a bird
from the hand of the fowler." Proverbs 6:4, 5. We are in
that evil time; we are in the grip of gigantic forces. We
dare not relax vigilance one second lest we be unprepared
for Jesus' coming.
