My heart was heavy when I positioned the stepladder beside the fuchsia plant in which Walela had built her nest. Why had one of the hatchlings died, I fretted, and why hadn’t the mama hummingbird removed it from the nest?
Her nest was steeped in shadow, so I decided I’d wait to take pictures until later in the day. One last look, I told myself when I reached the front door. But when I glanced over my shoulder, I did a double-take.
I couldn’t believe my eyes. I’ll check again later, I told myself. Wait and observe, as my friend Amy suggested. My knees were shaking when I climbed the ladder again a while later. Here, ensconced in a walnut-sized nest, the very essence of hope.
My hands trembled when I pressed the shutter. Could it be?
You tell me. 
