There’s a hummingbird outside my window.

Actually, there are several. They dart and hover around a little cluster of plastic feeders I’ve suction-cupped to the window—tiny test tubes filled with sugar water and tipped with flowers. I’ve placed them in a kind of playful pattern, each one offering a different angle, a new invitation.

They come often now.
And I find myself pausing more and more to watch them.

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🕊️ My Grandmother’s Bird

Hummingbirds were my grandmother’s favorite.
Delicate and dazzling, they showed up just when you needed to see them—flickering like a prayer, reminding you to pause. She always said they were messengers. And I think I believe her.

Now, they’ve become my favorite.
A legacy passed not through words, but through the heart.

And every time I see one—especially when I wasn’t looking for it—I feel a little thread pull tight between the past and the present.
Between grief and gratitude.
Between the woman I miss and the woman I’m becoming.

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🌸 The Mental Health of Paying Attention

These days, we’re told to fix everything.
To hack it, improve it, solve it.
But sometimes, what our minds need most isn’t more doing.
It’s noticing.

Noticing the softness of the breeze.
Noticing the taste of your tea.
Noticing the way your child breathes as they read beside you.
Noticing the hummingbird outside your window.

This is mindfulness.
But it’s also memory.
And it’s also healing.

When we slow down enough to notice, we give our nervous system a break.
We remind our hearts that beauty still exists.
We allow joy to come not in the loud and spectacular—but in the flicker of wings, in the sound of stillness.

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🌼 Legacy, Loss, and Little Visitations

Grief doesn’t always come in heavy waves. Sometimes, it comes in small sightings.
In signs.
In feathers and wings and memories.

Watching these hummingbirds feels like a visitation from my grandmother—like she’s reminding me to keep showing up with softness. To pay attention. To notice what matters.

And in that noticing, there’s peace.
In that remembering, there’s comfort.
And in that tiny, beating wing—there’s healing.

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🌿 A Gentle Practice

If your heart is heavy, your mind tired, or your days too fast—maybe today is an invitation to slow down.

To look out the window.
To notice what’s blooming.
To name what’s beautiful.
To remember someone who made you feel safe.
To whisper thank you—for what was, and for what still is.

Hummingbirds don’t stay long. But their presence lingers.
And maybe, if we let it, that kind of noticing will linger in us too.

With heart,
Patricia