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Iridescent Soul
M. L Stevens
Introduction to the story and 12 songs


Cascading off the slopes of the highest peaks, the breeze whispered messages of change. The firs rustled, the aspen quaked, and a mother hummingbird, perched in the tallest tree at the edge of the ledge, moved her head quickly back and forth, listening carefully.

Behind her, in the shadows 12 feet above the forest floor, her three-week-old nestlings preened their feathers and whirred their wings. Excitement gleamed in their eyes as they tottered and tested their ability to fly beside their stretched and nearly ruptured nest.

In a day or two, they would be in the alpine meadows discovering which flowers contained the sweetest nectar and what insects they could safely hawk. Before summer's end, they would have to begin the 2,000-mile migration to a warmer climate.

Each autumn for seven years, their mother had made the southward journey. And each spring, she had returned to these same mountains to raise two broods.

But now, she was beginning to feel her age. The growing weariness, the subtle quiverings, the stabs of pain-she could not deny.

One warm night, a week after her fledglings had left their nest the final time, she dreamed about the wintering grounds far to the south. Stirring restlessly, she opened her eyes to see a meteor blaze through the atmosphere. The image of the Master Hummingbird sweeping across the sky, beckoning her southward, flashed through her thought.

Looking out at the moonlit heavens, she began to feel an indescribable urge. Her heart thumped faster and her soul began to sing.

Song 1 - Promises

Promises are everywhere
Every time I see my young ones go,
Birth, and life, and death.

Promises stretch far beyond
Where I normally go,
Far beyond where mountains reach,
Where rivers flow,
Where seeds are sown.

Promises press deeper
Than the throat of a flower.
I know, I've been there,
I've seen within myself
A sight as bright as daylight.

But now I must turn away
From my youth,
From my middle years,
And search out there
For the Afterglow.

Promises are everywhere,
Birth, death, and life.
Yes, promises are everywhere.


By early morning, the urge was pressing, the direction clear.

And so, as ravens cawed, and eagles soared high, and marmots whistled across the slide rock, the hummingbird left her hillside home.

Leaving the burdens of motherhood behind, she set out through the rising mist. Soaring between two high granite cliffs like a leaf picked up by the wind, she dropped over the waterfall into the canyon below.

For two days she stopped only for food and water, and to catch her breath. Often she paused where the depth and breadth of the deepest woods were full of light.

The third morning, she perched on a branch of an ancient tree overlooking a familiar river valley. She ruffled her feathers to gather the feel of the overhead sun, of moisture in the air, of any hint of distant weather patterns. She listened to the direction of passing insects, to birds' whistles and squawks, to the wind passing through the trees.

The air movement shifted and so did her thoughts. She was on her own now, an explorer on her final journey. But why was she so anxious to get to the winter feeding grounds ahead of the others? Summer was not suddenly going to disappear.

Excitement brewing, she flexed her wings and shot out across the river toward new territory-toward a greatness she could only feel.


Song 2 - Wander

I wonder as I wander,
Out under the sky,
Why life goes so quickly,
Why we all must die.
Is there a high heaven
For each watchful eye?
I wonder as I wander
Out under the sky.

Looking for something
To meet me halfway
I follow this shadow
Of pure light each day.
Can there be a garden
Where this light will fall,
Where the promise of ages
Will capture us all?

I fly on toward something
I'm not sure of,
Gaining, waning, straining.
Why am I complaining?
This light is so bright,
This direction feels right.
Guide me, lead me
Pull me, treat me
Nudge me, push me,
Night and day,
Day and night.
Each day I fly,
I will fly.
I will fly,
Until I die.


That afternoon past high plateaus, she came upon abandoned fields infested with purple thistles. She feasted on the nectar, careful not to get caught in the thick, wiry heads.

Pushing on, she flew past junipers and sagebrush, across herds of cattle chewing their cuds, over scrub oak and pine trees.

Cresting a ridge, she approached a fieldstone house. Hovering above it, she stared down at the bright red-shingled roof. For a hummingbird, red was a most promising color.

Weary from her flight, wearier than she had ever been, she let her wings fold. When her feet touched the rooftop, she closed her eyes and cheeped a sigh of relief.

Evening came. A slight breeze rustled her feathers and she steadied her feet under her. Barely able to lift off the roof, she drifted toward the pine tree shading the corner of the house.

In the thick branches of needles, she peered down-and blinked with disbelief. There, stretching the length of the house, was a forest of flowers! A fence was covered with honeysuckle, and a trumpet vine draped a dead tree trunk. Butterfly bushes and daisies and other flowers stretched away from the house. Tall spikes of maroon, red, pink, and white hollyhocks were everywhere.

Trembling from her good fortune, she dove into the thicket and thrust her beak into the heart of a maroon hollyhock. The nectar was deliciously sweet. Flowing smoothly down her throat, it created a warm glow. Whipping her tongue across her beak, she moved to a red hollyhock, an orange trumpet vine, and then to several pink and white honeysuckle.

Feeling a newness surge through her veins, she perched on a clothesline stretching alongside the flowers, parallel to the house. Scanning back and forth, she joyfully inspected the garden. Could there be enough flowers here to feed her the rest of the summer? She wiped the pollen off her beak with her claw, then stopped to listen.

In some tree nearby, a woodpecker hammered with its powerful beak. Swallows swept by, chirping as they filled their craws with insects. A young sparrow poked its head out of the hollow clothesline crossbar nearest her.

So much for the other birds. Only one thing concerned her now. As far as she could tell, the garden was all her own. No other hummingbird had staked out these flowers.