The day after she passed, the wind was still.
No song. No movement. Just silence.
But then, from the garden she once loved,
a hummingbird appeared —
tiny, glowing, alive with light.
It hovered in place, looking into the window,
as if waiting.
The elders say:
“When a hummingbird lingers, it carries the breath of someone you’ve loved.”
It did not speak, but I heard her.
Not in words, but in feeling.
In the way the wings moved — quick like her laughter.
In the way it stayed — gentle like her hands.
In the way it disappeared — quiet, like her goodbye.
Now, when I see a hummingbird, I smile.
Because I know:
Some love never leaves.
It just learns how to fly.
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