Summary

Erika Burkhalter reflects on the concept of perspective through her experiences with a hummingbird and the view from an airplane, drawing parallels between the bird's flight and her own realization about life's viewpoints.

Abstract

Erika Burkhalter shares a personal narrative about a hummingbird that became trapped in her office, unable to see its feeder just two feet away because it was fixated on the sky. She draws a metaphorical comparison between the bird's plight and our human tendency to only see what we know, often missing what's right in front of us. Eventually, the hummingbird found its way out through a side window, which Burkhalter likens to the perspective shift that allows us to see beyond our usual scope. From a plane, she observes a ribbon of light across the clouds, drawing a parallel to the hummingbird's experience and emphasizing the importance of looking askance, or from a different angle, to gain a deeper understanding of life.

Opinions

Burkhalter suggests that our perspective is limited by what we know and our usual vantage points, much like the hummingbird's initial inability to see its feeder.
She believes that a shift in perspective, like the hummingbird finding the side window, can lead to new insights and experiences.
The author values the bravery to explore the unknown, as demonstrated by the hummingbird's dive into the human world and her own contemplation of life's views.
Burkhalter implies that moments of realization, such as the one she had while observing the light on the clouds, can be as impactful as the hummingbird's newfound discovery of a different world.
She expresses a sense of wonder and amazement for nature's glories and the lessons that can be learned from observing and interacting with the natural world.

Perspective

A Ribbon of Light

A tale of a plane flight and a hummingbird

Have you ever seen a ribbon of light streak across the top of the clouds?

How often do birds see that?

It’s a matter of perspective, I suppose.

We only fly occasionally. And they’re always riding the air currents into infinity.

I suspect these disparities permeate the very being of our lives. We see what we know. And we don’t look much further than that.

Recently, a hummingbird got trapped in my office. Below the lintel, he flew.

His feeder was two feet away. But he couldn't see it because his gaze was ever upwards, towards the sky that he knew, where gnats swarmed and his mortal enemy swooped.

He didn’t know to look down, and just couldn’t find his way out, continually scraping his head against the artificial sky, until finally, he and I realized that the side window would do.

I took off the screen and out he flew, into the endless reach of blue.

From the plane now, I’m looking down at that streak of light across the tops of the clouds.

And I’m realizing that it’s the same view, in a way, that the hummer saw the other day.

The side window, that’s the answer.

It’s not up, nor either down, but, rather, that look that’s askance, flying into the unknown, that gives the best vantage, the vault into a deeper knowledge.

Yesterday evening, while at my computer, just at dusk, I was buzzed by a hummer.

A quick circle or two through my office, and then, out again before I knew what had happened.

Since then he’s done it a dozen times, a flip into a new world, a little trick of flight that blows his friends’ minds.

The world of the humans — he dove in and has been forever changed,

but maybe, not as much as me, gazing down at the light on the clouds and thinking about the bravery of that tiny bird.

Erika Burkhalter is a yogi, neurophilosopher, cat-mom, photographer, and lover of travel and nature, spreading her love and amazement for Mother Earth’s glories, one photo, poem or story at a time. (MS Neuropsychology, MA Yoga Studies).

Perspective

A Ribbon of Light

A tale of a plane flight and a hummingbird

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