How to Deny a Hummingbird

The sun rose shone over the tree canopy, and the gardener shuffled from his open pavilion. He stretched his thin shoulders, and straightened his vibrant robe. He pushed a wheelbarrow and studied his reflection in a pond surrounding the pavilion. He adjusted his grey hair and grimaced; the top of his head was the only plain colored thing in the garden.

A grass path stretched through a clearing of rocks into perfect lines. Rows of large vegetables and fruit grew to the left of the path, and a small stream trickled from the mountain’s top to water these plants and fill the pond. The path disappeared among the mighty pines and oaks, and the scent of his flowers wafted down by a breeze from the mountaintop.

A hedge grew around the sprawling garden, and overlooked a ram shackled town.

“Leithart!” a voice called from outside the hedge, “its me…the mayor.”

Rakes, picks, and shovels toppled from the gardener’s barrel and destroyed the rock formation. Leithart stormed across the rocks, clenching his fists as he destroyed hours of tedious work from the previous day with his bare feet. He never bothered planting a path to the gate; he never left the garden.

He wrenched the small gate open and his sharp nose reddened as he glared at a cowering little man in sackcloth.

“Go away!” Leithart shrieked, “I’m not helping any of you villagers! Figure out how to grow your crops on your own, and quit pestering me.”

He slammed the gate in the man’s face and used his previous steps to storm across his rocks again.

After eating fruit and calming his nerves with a bath in the pond, Leithart gathered his wheelbarrow and trekked uphill among the trees. The trees leaked sap and the gardener stopped to pick pine needles from the path.

Rows upon rows of flame balls, lavender ladies, red roses, daffodils, and sunflowers grew in his garden higher the mountain side when he’d cleared the trees. He removed blossoms that appeared wilted so new ones could grew and made sure the tiny streams from above were feeding them the right amount. The mountainside was draped in silence, and Leithart scowled over his work.

He glanced at the village far below at midday as he sat beneath a sunflower’s shadow. Fields stretched every-which-way on the valley floor, and brown clad figures labored away on them.
Leithart snorted, “Fools,” he muttered, “this is harvest time, but where are your crops? I might’ve told you crops can’t grow in the bottom of valleys! It’s too cold at night. I don’t know how you’re all going to live through another winter.”

The gardener sat up straight as a thrum filled the air. He stood and shaded his eyes, listening as the thrum grew louder. Leithart organized his tools in his barrel and leaned over a flower.
A brilliant ball of color vibrated beside Leithart, and the thrum settled to a hum as a tiny bird hovered. The creature’s tiny eyes glittered as he studied the hunched gardener.

“Your garden is doing fine,” the tiny bird spoke as though controlling great strength, “you’ve done well with my gift.”

Leithart stood and stared into the creature’s tiny eyes. He averted them suddenly and folded his hands, “As you please.”

“But it’s not as I please!” the tiny creature twittered excitedly as it hovered to eye-level, “what have you done with my gift? You can sow and reap anytime you wish, you can grow things out of season and region, and the best of it. Yet I look at the poor village and wonder how you’ve used it to help anyone but yourself. Why haven’t you helped them?”

Leithart scowled and crushed dirt between his toes, “I…I don’t know.”

The bird’s wings buzzed and it flashed red for an instant, “You will share your gift, or I will take it back. I’ll take the life from this garden, just as I put life into it.” he hovered beside Leithart’s ear, “You have much, and much is expected of you.”


Every night, all harvest time, the hummingbird visited the gardener and whispered, “You have much, and much is expected of you.”

Leithart hated these visits, and he imagined he dreamed the tiny bird could speak. Six days till the end of harvest, the hummingbird’s voice grew less and less audible. The gardener rejoiced as the bird twittered more and more angrily around his head, and he shrugged his shoulders. Soon, the words sounded just like another bird’s hum.

Leithart awoke on the last harvest day with the buzz of many bees filling the air. His eyes widened, and he threw off his blanket and tripped over his colorful robe as he raced to his pavilion’s entrance. A scream gurgled in his throat as countless bees swarmed everywhere, followed by locusts.

He swung with his rake and through rocks, but more insects took their place. Finally, Leithart sat dejectedly and watched as his garden was devoured. Nothing bright or green remained minutes later as the horde flew away.

They swarmed into the valley below and landed on the villager’s pitiful crop. Leithart watched as the land sprang to life. His great garden took form in the valley, and soon the crops sprang everywhere. The villager’s danced in great rings as the bees and locusts flew away.
Leithart slumped to the ground and covered his face. A single tear rolled down his cheek, but his head snapped upward as one of his trees collapsed like a thunderclap.

“Now what?” he groaned.

“Termites,” someone buzzed next to him, “all your trees will collapse within an hour.”

The gardener leapt to his feet and stared at the scarlet humming bird. His fists clenched.

“Why?” he bawled as his jaws squared, “my garden was beautiful! Why’d you take it?”

“I haven’t taken it all away,” the tiny bird whispered in the man’s ear as he wept, “life is still in this place. See that sunflower? It’s still the largest anywhere, but I can take the life from this place and leave it as it once was. I saw no beauty before, only flowers and bright green. You’ve learned a hard lesson, but it’s not over. If you share your gift in the coming year, this garden will flourish again and so will you. If you don’t share your gift even now,” the bird’s wings droned and its eyes narrowed, “I will take away even the life from this place. What say you?”