Hummingbird

I imagine it was once slow and grey then color came to a lackluster world, tinted throats drank sunlight through bowls of honey and light. Eons shed a useless weight, until a flint of flight hummed bright, on shimmering winds. This morning, one comes to my decking, an iridescence, its long thin beak held high as it hovers beside a red and yellow feeder. It casts a shadow on the wooden floor, a silhouette much larger than itself. If I look only at the shadow it could be some fanciful auk descending out of a lost world, but no, it is only a hummingbird, a speck of color blown from a windmill of creation like the rest of us.