Wild Into

Kathryn Spence, from the installation, Short Sharp Notes, Rolling or Churring Whistles, Clear Phrases

The other day, a hummingbird flew into my house. Have you ever tried to catch a hummingbird? It ain't easy. And the poor things never really want to take a break. The hummingbird flew round and round my living room and kitchen ceiling, beating its wings against the crown molding and scaring my dog so much he wouldn't come back in the house. After about 20 minutes of trying to coax the hummingbird back out through the front door by basically asking it nicely to leave, I started to panic. I had to leave and I really didn't want the death of a hummingbird on my hands.

I remember when I lived in Mexico, I was always surprised to see the rows upon rows of hummingbirds for sale laid out at the weekly flea markets along with the antique frames and rusted tools. I never understood who could possibly want a dead hummingbird. But when you actually saw them still, they were beautiful, startlingly kaleidoscopic creatures.

I left the house and came back as quickly as I could and heard nothing. For about 10 minutes. And then the hummingbird emerged beating against the door jam. Unable, once again, to find a way out. I watched him for a few more minutes, occasionally resting on a window sill, and tried to swat him unsuccessfully with a broom. When I saw my neighbor and her dog in the front yard, I called her in. She brought over a ladder, a metal bowl, and a flat piece of cardboard. She climbed the ladder and as I continued to swat, she attempted to trap him in the bowl as he flew past. As the bird flew by, more and more frantic, he left dark, tiny feathers on the ceiling.

But, no luck. Finally, after about 30 minutes, the poor bird rested on the sill again, and my neighbor caught him, slide the board over the bowl, and we raced out of the house to let him go. For a long moment he didn't move. And then, out of nowhere, he just flew off into the air. We looked at the cardboard and there was a tiny smear of blood. Hummingbird blood.

We both felt exhilarated by the release. But what did it mean? A hummingbird had never entered any of my homes before. Why now? Was it a good sign? A bad omen? And wasn't hummingbird blood a particularly powerful ingredient worthy of some kind of sorcerous spell. Did my house need a cleaning? Or had it just been blessed? My heart pounded as I shut the front door and wondered what the next wild creature would bring.