Hummingbird Ghost

A flicker of wings, a breath of color suspended between here and gone. They say the dead return as birds, hearts restless, beating too fast, as if trying to outfly time. The hummingbird lingers, drinking deep, trembling, as if it knows the flowers will fade, as if it knows the light is dying. And then— It is gone, leaving only the whisper of wings and the hush of something unseen.