When I was about ten years old, I discovered a hummingbird lying outside our picture window. It’s little tongue was hanging out, and its eyes were closed. I gently took it in the palm of my hand and held it while I cried. I didn’t want the ants or a cat to get it, so I just held it, like children do. When I finally stood up to go tell my mother we needed to bury the bird, it suddenly perked its little head up, shook once or twice, and then flew away.