Topic: "Small Victories"
Late on a Sunday afternoon in the Shire, and Frodo sits in the Gazebo, surrounded by screening to ward off the carriers of the West Nile. Outside Fiona and Mick, the Wonder Dog, keep watch for squirrels from picket posts dug deep beneath forsythia. Birds hover to feeders in search of their favorite seed. Butterflies flit from passion flower to butterfly bush in search of their favorite nectar. The Sports, Metro, and Living sections of the paper lie at Frodo's feet.
At the hummingbird feeder hanging protectively from the shingled roof of the Gazebo, rivals contest for the rights to the sugary liquid which will soon power them onward. Sometimes arriving from the opposite direction, they occasionally appear confused by the screening and have difficulty figuring out how to get to the feeder.
Suddenly, an emergency. A hummingbird tries to penetrate the screening and hits it with sufficient force that his long proboscis is stuck in the mesh. Frodo is not prepared for this kind of event. All he knows is that the little creature is greatly distressed, and is in real danger of hurting himself. Frodo stands quickly and the ruby throat glistens in the sunlight. Frodo knows better than to touch anything, for the best of intentions could produce a broken beak, and subsequent starvation.
Frodo thinks he can see into the eyes of the hummingbird, and seems to hear a mixture of fear and pleading. Frodo takes a step forward directly toward the prisoner, and the hummingbird instinctively pulls straight back and is free.
He hovers for just a moment, probably just getting his bearings. How arrogant of Frodo to think that the pause was for any other reason.
Tomorrow we'll find a new location for the feeder. Close by, where Frodo can keep watch, but with less potential danger for innocent friends. Wisdom that would befit a President.