The hummingbird
It was a cold morning
Uninviting winter stagnated in the air
My mind stilled in the morning chill
Slowly my gaze flitted around the room
The cold, hard chair was kept warm
As I tried to see the otherworld
The frosted pane on the inside
I wiped the glass and gazed into
The verdant outside
This was a strange feeling
Welcoming, yet nauseating
But familiarity breeds content
A lone hummingbird flitted playfully
From blossom to blossom
I followed it with my eyes
Darting to and fro, sometimes out of sight
Sometimes in my sight
My eyes danced
Motionless I fixated on the creature
I felt the air in the core enervated
Draining away
I felt a slight twitch on red, raw cheeks
Was it a slip
Or was it a smile