The unusually long days of rain and chilly nights late last year did not help any when I was desolate over a death. But one morning I woke up to find sunlight seeping through my window. The ice in my veins started softening. And then I heard something and looked out. "Get out and play," my yard invited. There, I had an unusual conversation.
A bird with colors that shimmered in the sun flew from out of nowhere and impertinently perched itself right in front of me -- on the waxy blood-red Anthurium that I was admiring. The bird steadily fixed its deep black eyes on me.
Mesmerized, I whispered: What are you doing here?