As I struggle with my writing, every morning begins anew. The words don't come, so I walk out on the patio high above Tucson, the sun just lifting over the mountain, blue sky above, birds calling, bright morning everywhere.
And then she comes, as if I were invisible, a small green hummingbird. I stand still. She flits from branch to branch, then settles for long moments, tiny green in the brush. She stares at me, through me. Only her small brown head moves, checking everywhere. She stares at me again, and then she is gone.
Around me, the arroyo teems with life. Other birds fly by: a male Anna's Hummingbird preens nearby; a House Finch brown and blush-red balances atop a bare-limbed tree. Several Saguaro stand sentinel nearby, their limbs punctuated by holes, little nests for burrowing birds, an occasional owl, a cactus wren. Down in the valley, cars stream along ribbon roads. Back to the den I go, all enclosed, the outside world fades, invisible, and I write.
Today's prompt comes from Sunday Scribblings, prompt number 250! An amazing writer's blog. Visit to write or read on . . .