Hummingbird

When I was young, I was special, not special in a good way. always late everywhere, always stuck in my world. I could look at things in the courtyard, in the streets for hours. lines would run along each leaf, or brick in the path. Sometimes, I thought there were voices, not ones that would help me save the world, jumping building to building, but two ants playing tug-o-war over one twig, hummingbird, hovering in suspended time. Some parents might worry, ask Physicians to prescribe new medication, untested, but my mother said no. She bought me a camera, I shot things instead of looking.