Deborah Leipziger
July 2021
We awaken in a yellow room, which glows with bright sunshine. It’s a lush green morning after the rain and I awake to the possibilities after so many days of rain. The sun calls us out to look at the mountains and the Green Mountain Forest.
The scenic road (VT-100) is dotted with tiger lilies – orange against the green expanse. We are headed to Dot’s, which is an institution here in VT. A long line snakes outside the diner, amidst the stunning flower boxes filled with fuchsia and magenta flowers. We decide the wait is worth it.
We take the extra time to browse through Wilmington, taking in the rusted statue of the moose reminding us of the young moose we saw crossing VT- 100 at dusk, hurling itself across the approaching night and our car. Our car filled with kids. None of us had ever seen a moose. Luckily, Andy was able to swerve and we were all safe but we always approach the dusk with caution now.
Finally, our table is ready and we are starving. From our table we see a white clapboard church, with its simple lines against the azure sky.
We are so hungry we can barely decide between breakfast food and lunch food, with lunch about to come on tap. Breakfast wins the day as it very often does – and I choose the eggs benedict with spinach and Andy picks the Cajun skillet breakfast. I love the eggs benny, the sauce is perfect: lemony and light, a canary yellow, draped over the poached eggs and spinach. The English muffins perfectly toasted. The potatoes crispy and garlicky. I love the cobalt mugs.
Dot’s is timeless. Our waitress has been at Dot’s since the 1980s. The walls are adorned with old-time images.
The next stop is the local bookstore, Bartley’s Bookshop, which is a favorite of ours. I find a book about hummingbirds and another about shells. These books will inspire me to write poems.
May 2025
Here is the poem inspired by the hummingbird book, The Glitter in the Green: In Search of Hummingbirds, by Jon Dunn:
God of Beginnings, God of Endlings
Somewhere in the forest
by the Ayampe River
perhaps today the last two
Esmeraldas woodstars
court and create offspring
God of Nests protect them
Purple body ruby throat emerald feathers
I hear your wingbeats
In Brazil you are beija flor
“kissing flowers” to suck nectar
for hovering
A glittering a bouquet
a shimmer a tune a charm
of hummingbirds
God of Hummingbirds watch over them
When the last hummingbird is gone
what will become of the God
of Hummingbirds?
This poem was originally published in the Bombay Literary Magazine in August, 2024.
Note: An “endling” is the last of its kind or species.