The Golden Hour

 4AM

She is sleeping so sweetly in the crib beside me with her hands forever folded beside her cheek. 

These are my hours. Before the sun splashes away the last bits of darkness. I sit and watch the sun's tide come in, and for the first time since I can remember, I am not anxious for the hour to pass. For years, I waited for this sweet exhaustion... to not just witness the tidal change, but to feel it... to participate in it. God knew the desire that He had generously bestowed on my heart, and in His perfect timing, He obliged. 

She stirs and stills once more.

Years ago, when my faith was pristine and unblemished by trial, I went bird banding with a friend from the flower shop where I worked. For those unfamiliar with the technique, bird banding involves venturing into the woods before sunrise to set up mist nets within the tree canopy. Over the course of the dawn's incoming tide, the bird banders revisit each net to identify, tag, and release the captured birds. It is one of the oldest techniques for researching individual birds and their migratory patterns. 

Espy whimpers, and I carefully reach into the crib and wrap the blanket over her liberated toes. Sleep returns. She is stilled once more.

As a neophyte without license, my participation was limited, but I quietly trailed my older and more experienced bird banding colleague. Silence was carefully kept so as not to disrupt the delicate creatures... It seems like words are a much more valuable currency during this golden hour. 

As sunlight confined darkness to its shadows, we approached a mist net with a very small stain of color. A ruby-throated hummingbird was caught in the tender grip of the webbing. Without a specialized license, it is illegal to band hummingbirds. They are especially delicate. I watched as my friend gingerly removed the lattice from her fragile feathers. Seemingly aware of her helplessness, the little bird did not stir or startle. Once removed from the net, my coworker placed the stunned creature in the palm of my hand. For a moment that felt like eternity, the hummingbird and I took each other in. As she recognized her liberation, she levitated on buzzing wings. She lingered for a moment in quiet gratitude before darting out of sight. 

The present uncertainties will overwhelm me if I let them, and the shadows whisper that this tide won't last, but it is here now, and I am bathed in its light.

Espy coos. Wings stir. I reach into the crib and gently lift her to my chest. Her gentle breath brushes my collarbone like feathers. Good morning, my precious little hummingbird.