In yesterday's post, I referred to the hummingbird as "a bird that burns like a luminous flame." A simile, but more than a simile.
Jean Cocteau was once asked what he would save from a burning house. He replied: "The fire." I'm not sure that I know what he meant, or that I would agree with him if I did, but the remark has a ring of metaphysical truth about it.
The hummingbirds, the geckos, the bat moths, the boas, the other creatures here that creep, or crawl, or fly, or swim, including myself and those I love -- we are all doomed to extinction. But the fire that is built into every atom of creation, the fire that makes stars burn, that fills the universe with novelty, that fire, that mysterious primeval thrust towards complexity -- that fire will not be extinguished.
Not much consolation for our own mortality, I suppose, but consolation nevertheless.