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The Hummingbird And The Chipmunk
[738 words]
Bob M Ra
[June 2003]
[email protected]
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The Hummingbird And The Chipmunk
Bob M Ra

Upon the branch of a small tree in the woods, a hummingbird sat in perfect stillness. Her wings were not fluttering; her eyes, seemingly, peered not onto the landscape before her, but into the depths of her past, as she stood contemplating a situation that she simply could not figure out. Just then, as if ordained by a higher force, a chipmunk skittering by, without warning, stopped. Suddenly, as if he was infused with the voice of God, he began a series of chirping and chattering that can easily be translated as this.

“Dear little hummingbird, why are you perched? You should be with your friends gathering nectar from the flowers of the forest girth.”

The hummingbird, slowly shifting her eyes to meet those of her newfound friends, wistfully whistled a blue, blue tune, expressing her thoughts in ways with which words cannot contend. Here, I can do no justice to the essence of her song. Though, I can tell you this. Of all the insight and reflection, of all the time spent making connections, from the answers she gained, spiraled out fractals upon fractals of questions and questions.

The chipmunk, of course, discerned a truer meaning, much different than the one that I had gleaned. Jumping up and down on the branch of the tree in the woods, he chirped and chattered with more joy for the bird than the bird could ever know of.

The hummingbird, in amazement, shocked and nearly repulsed, enraged with the chipmunk’s response, sprang up and fluttered forth. Together, (the chipmunk and me), we saw a sight I wish I did not see. A delicate and beautiful wonder transformed into a crazy winged commotion, zipping back and forth like an alien spacecraft, and stopping every now and then to stab me and Chip with her beak.

Chip, later he confessed, stepped up to the task of clearing up this mess. He began with a whistle, then proceeded to chirp, he chattered from there on, and then burped. The burp, it seems, carried almost all of the meaning. For, in the moments to come, the bird retreating, simmered down from her rage, and considered what the chipmunk conveyed. I looked at Chip, and he looked at me, and we both thought the very same thing. If that hummingbird could smile, it certainly would. The hummingbird, humming off to rejoin her company, hummed off instilled with a restored sense of gaiety.

Turning to chip, I insisted he relay a sufficient translation of what he’d explained. So, over the course of an average chipmunk’s lifetime, I learned to speak in his chattering way and then finally came to understand what it was he was saying. My inquiry then, came to be “Chatter chatter chirp chirp chatter chatter chirp burp?” His chattering back can be worded as follows.

The hummingbird was very concerned with whether or not there was anyone else in the forest that had overcome the overwhelming situation that she had found herself facing, although, of course, he affirmed, those words were clearly not in her song. The answer to that question, said chip, she correlated with her own destiny. However, he assured me, a sentence like this has no place in her tune.

At length, Mr. Munk looked up at the sky and said these words. “My dear boy, throughout these many long years, me growing old, you, staying, for the most part, young, as I have taught you the language of my kind, and you, me, the language of yours, we have come to understand each other better than ever. At last, you will know what I said to that bird that day on the branch of that small tree in the woods in a way that you have never known before.”

Taking a bipedal stance, Chip Munk put forth his staff and gazed into the distance as if he was staring into the past, appearing before me like a powerful rodent-like wizard on the verge of uttering a profound mind-blowing statement, and then, his beady little eyes turned bright red, while he chirped and chattered away.

What I gathered from his chattering is this. The reason that he was struck with joy upon hearing the hummingbird’s sad song was because of one simple truth. If there was no one in the forest that had found a solution to the problem that she sung of, well then, she could be the one, to be the very first.



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© 2003 Bob M Ra
June 2003

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