The Hummingbird and the Owl

The hummingbird was sharp, dazzling, and colorful. It flew about without a care in the world, zipping from flower to flower as fast as it could. It took immense joy in going faster and faster until nothing else could follow it. It was wildly excited by anything it came across, taken aback by the wonders of life.

The owl was slouched and drab. It rarely moved unless it had to hunt. Other birds called it boring, quiet, and secluded.

The owl stood now within the shadows of the treetops. It could go back to its hollow to sleep, as it was nearing noon, but it didn't want to be stuck in the dark at that moment.

The hummingbird caught sight of the owl, its lifelong friend, and perched beside it.

"Hey, shouldn't you have gone to sleep by now?" the hummingbird asked, hopping along the branches. "You looked pretty tired at sunrise."

The owl turned. Its rough features softened at the sight of the tiny, energetic bird.

"I'm having trouble falling asleep," the owl said.

"Again?" The hummingbird sighed. "I had that feeling the other night, actually. Sometimes, you're just too fired up to turn in! Like you've just got do something!" It took off and darted around in small circles before landing again.

The owl's sullen silence told the hummingbird that its analysis was far from the truth.

"Well . . . are you finally going to tell me what it is that's been keeping you up recently?" the hummingbird asked.

The owl didn't answer at first. Then it asked, "Hum, why do we get along?"

The hummingbird tilted its head, then chuckled. "That's a silly question. I like you, of course. And you like me."

"But why do you like me?" the owl asked. "What about me makes you want to be my friend?"

The hummingbird tried to look the owl in the eyes, but the owl was staring off into nothingness.

"That look of yours is making me worried," the hummingbird said. "I thought you were past these thoughts."

The owl nodded slowly. "I was. I guess that I've just been thinking, lately."

"About what?"

The owl shrugged. "I don't want to be an owl," it said.

The hummingbird was aghast. "What? Why? Owls are so cool! Why wouldn't you want to be one?"

"I'd rather be a hummingbird," the owl said. "Or a pigeon. Maybe a finch. Any of those would be better than being an owl."

"Why those?" the hummingbird asked. "I've never made friends with any of those kinds of birds. They all seem too weird. Not like owls."

The owl didn't seem uplifted by the hummingbird's words. The hummingbird huffed.

"You asked me why I like having you as my friend?" the hummingbird asked. "Well . . . I suppose . . ." It paused. "I don't know. I just like being around you, owl. Being around you makes me happy, and that's all I really want or need. And that wouldn't change whether you were an owl or anything else."

The owl sighed. "I don't want to be something else so you'll like me more, hum. It's not . . . you know what, never mind."

"What?" the hummingbird asked insistently. "What is it? Tell me, so I can help!"

"It's all right," the owl said. "You don't have to try and make me feel better."

The hummingbird opened its beak, hesitated, then closed it. But after a moment, its brow furrowed, and it opened its beak again, this time with new vigor.

"No, I don't, do I?" the hummingbird said. "I'm in no way obligated to try and make you feel better. We've only known each other our entire lives, talking just about every morning and evening and whenever else we can. But no, I'm not obligated to try and help you when you're down."

The owl sighed again. "Look–"

"Fine," the hummingbird continued, cutting the owl off. "I won't try to make you feel better because I have to. I'll do it because I want to. Do you have any idea how it makes me feel when you talk like this? It makes me hurt, owl." The hummingbird wrapped its small wings around the owl's leg. "It makes me hurt so badly that I want to hug you tight and not let go until we've both stopped hurting."

The owl, at last, gave a small smile, but it didn't last long.

"So," the hummingbird said, straightening and folding its wings back. "What's been bothering you, really? Why don't you want to be an owl?"

The owl averted its eyes. After a long while, it said, "We have about a year left."

The hummingbird stiffened. "Oh," it said. For a few moments, it couldn't find the words to say. The normal, rapid flow of its mind was halted by its understanding of the owl's meaning.

When the hummingbird realized how much time had passed since it had last spoken, it forced out a small laugh. "That little amount left, already?" it said. "My, how time has flown."

The hummingbird hoped its laugh would make the owl smile again, but it didn't. And the hummingbird could tell that the owl was in a darker place than ever before.

"You still have time," the hummingbird said quietly.

"I do," the owl said. "I'll have about ten whole years."

The hummingbird took a breath. "So, that's why you don't want to be an owl?" it asked.

The owl nodded. "Ten whole years without a semblance of meaning. It'd be better if it didn't happen at all."

"Don't say that," the hummingbird snapped. "Your life is a gift, and you should treat it as such."

The owl fell silent.

The hummingbird looked down. "Sorry," it said.

"Living as I am now is already too much for me sometimes, hum," the owl said. "You know that. And you're my only friend. I have no one else but you, and I don't know if I can find anyone else for me."

The hummingbird felt hollow. "I know," it said. "But you can't give up so easily. A lot can happen in those years. You'll find purpose. I know it." The hummingbird snuggled up close to the owl. "And we'll do whatever we can while we're still friends."

The owl opened its wing and took the hummingbird under it. "You'll always be my friend, hum."

The hummingbird felt warm inside. "I'm glad."

"I just wish I could experience the rest of my life with you," the owl said. "I suppose an owl's lifespan is just too long."

"No," the hummingbird insisted. "Hummingbirds' are just too short."