Meditations in an Emergency
By Melissa Ramos
I have been taking more walks lately. On these walks, I notice I am seeing much more than I did before this crisis. What I witness and hear, smell and feel are lovely distractions. There is wind, there is the intermittent heat of the sun before it disappears into a throng of clouds. There are budding and blooming flowers in dazzling colors. There are the birds, their singing and calls interspersed with the typical quiet of this suburb. I have seen all sorts of birds lately, some of the same, some new. Straggling ducks zooming through the skies; two House Finches who seem to be contemplating whether my porch would make a good nest site; a noisy Bewick’s Wren that’s taken up residence in a tiny birdhouse my partner placed in a nearby bush; a gaggle of Cedar Waxwings munching on berries of a tall tree; the countless unidentified sparrows and California Towhees who rake up bugs in the garden with the smallest scrapes of their feet. Every evening before dusk, I hear the same record-like call of a Northern Mockingbird. She balances at the top of a utility pole in our backyard to chant her litany of imitations. I listen to her recitation now as reassurance of nature’s endurance.

~
Several weeks ago, long before these daily undulations of panic, my partner and I placed a hummingbird feeder on our porch. We sat by our kitchen window, mostly in the mornings before work, to watch and take a snapshot in our minds of a tiny Anna’s Hummingbird who declared this feeder his. When we’d walk outside to the car, when we’d step out the front door for fresh air, or any time we’d stroll in the garden, we could hear this particular bird’s chirping, his cries echoing in the neighborhood. He did not seem to be calling for any other bird in particular, but instead seemed intent on announcing his presence to others. He once stabbed another male Anna’s in the throat or chest (this happened too quickly for me to gather the precise details). When I blinked, the tiny victim of his anger plopped at my feet, breathing heavily and dazed. Our feeder-guardian hummingbird reemerged, flying around his food proudly. He was victorious, chirping at me as though he expected some congratulation. So we named him Bee after the buzzing, whirring sounds he greets us with every time we go outside.…