It's July, 2020, we are sequestered in our home, waiting out a Corona virus pandemic that, as if adding insult to injury, has been politicized by an ignorant, immoral, incompetent president. Worried that any day we might receive news that a relative or close friend has come down with the virus, feeling sorry for the growing numbers of the unemployed and the nurses and doctors who are working on the front lines under unimaginable stress. Not to mention four years that have been lost in the fight against global climate change, and racism hiding behind the bland face of a cop snuffing out the life of a black man. Escapism comes in two forms. I can immerse myself in a large oil painting I am doing of my favorite place in the world, the Grand Canyon. And when I need a break from the painting I can look out my studio's windows and watch ruby-throated hummingbirds zipping in to sip sugar water from our feeder. Less than three and a half inches long, and weighing in at under a half ounce, these tiny bundles of energy migrate humdreds of miles north in the spring, mate and settle down raising a new generation of hummiingbirds in a nest not much lagrer than the end of my thumb. It is cathartic to watch a creature so small thriving in a world that must be full of so many dangers. Maybe our gift of sugar water will help them store up the fat reserrves they will need to complete their migration south, and hopefully we will see them again next year. And we can hope that next year will be a better time for all of us.
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