Signs of Guidance

The first thing I think to write about this morning is about the stained glass hummingbird hanging in the window where I am. I do not want to be a humming bird in truth. I want to be like one in beauty and spirit, to borrow its wings, its ability to float and dart, to flash in iridescence as I discern where next to go to fill my need for nectar. And then to rest so still. I do not try to be something I am not.