The Northern Flicker

The story of a little bumblebees adventures to: San Cristóbal de las Casas MX, Jacó CR, Bayahibe DR and the friends she met along the way.

As I prepared for my next migration down south for the rest of Winter… I noticed his lifeless body, motionless at the doorstep of my hive.

His feathers were soft. Brown speckled puffed chest. A flash of red at its crown.

Nestled in the corner too perfectly.

The remnants of the leaves from Fall still decomposing in the corner, making a safe home for the Northern Flicker. 

I sat with him for a while.
He didn’t look injured.
Just… placed.
Too gentle, too pristine to be prey.
Was it a sign?

“It always is” She whispered the reminder.

As Spring ever so slowly emerged, so did the Siberian and Siamese cats.
They had been hunting lately, but She whispered to me…
“This was not their offering.“

This was Hers.

It wasn’t the right time to ask what it symbolized.

I was late and I still needed to prepare for my journey.

Nonetheless I spent the next week wondering what made Her send this offering.

I was migrating again.
From the cold hibernation of the Rocky Mountains to the island waves and rhythms of the Dominican Republic, then finally over to the jungle of Costa Rica.

Each landing brought its own energy. 

In the Dominican Republic,
the air was thick with salt and stares.
My wings were buzzing with anticipation,
a bumblebee looking for adventure.
My sister on this journey?
Peacock in full glam.

We came to dance. To surf.
To explore the Caribbean Sea.
To ruffle our feathers, not for anyone else but ourselves.

We danced like no one was watching.
Even though we knew they were.

The Dominican Republic felt heavy. Hunting gazes of men who moved like hawks.

Predators in bars. On the street. Watching. Circling.

We felt their eyes.
Their hunting energy.
But we didn’t engage.

Peacock twirled her bright feathers
while I buzzed beside her.

We danced like no one was watching.

But I started to shrink, pull my wings in close. I retreated to building a cage around myself out of necessity.

It was what I do best….

Brushing off the energy of the Dominican, I called on Toucan before migrating more East to Costa Rica.

She connected with the Medicine to ask for protection over me. 

Asking for help removing the lurking eyes of the predators so they could no longer attack me. 

Toucans medicine is strong. 

She is the dream interpreter. 

The keeper of the gates.

The bridge between the physical and spiritual worlds.

Her third eye… wide open.

She surely would also know why I was given the offering before my journey.

I sent a Pigeon Post to the jungles of Peru to deliver my question.

Weeks before I had stayed in her care in Mexico.

She’d bathed me in good medicine.

I was surrounded by the grounding love of Copal and Palo Santo.

My frozen heart began to melt thanks to Grandfather’s fire. 

So why did the Northern Flicker choose my doorstep to be where he spent his last moments?

The voice of the Divine told Toucan, “You’re close to meeting a magical guy.”

I giggled at the message I received.

I thought, “a lover, a friend, a protector?” What does that mean?
But quietly, I began to watch the skies more closely…

In Costa Rica, the air was softer, more still.
But I remained cautious.

I remained alert.
The memory of talons and cages still echoed in me.

I landed in a sweet cafe.

Ladybug and I had reunited.

Over tea and honey we shared tales and adventures that we’d been on since we parted ways in the Rocky Mountains. 

She told me tales of forests she’d explored, insects she crossed paths with, treasures she collected and pearls she was gifted.

Our duo was safe. Ladybug’s home was on the east of Northern America. 

The beings there were direct so she learned how to stand up for herself.

She was small but mighty.

She knew how to avoid getting stepped on.

We journeyed out to MonteVerde….

Foraging for mushrooms along the way.

We met magical friends and allies.

They welcomed us into their oasis.

The Blue Morpho Butterfly met us at the entrance, as if she’d been waiting for our arrival.

Turquoise-Browed Motmot was the keeper of the gate.

He welcomed us to the jungle, offering protection during our stay.

The Bellbirds entertained us with their calls, never fully showing themselves,

But we knew they were watching over us.

She always is.

Not always making herself visible but with trust I know the Bellbird is there.

It was late one night, Ladybug and I’s peckish stomachs guiding us.

We wandered into a quiet nest to ask for some food in Jacó.
It felt safe, but just across the road felt weary.
Dark corners, mysterious rooms and strangers’ eyes pierced and scouring.

But I didn’t want the predators to catch me lurking, so I looked away in ignorance.

I pray that the beings there are safe.

Are these new birds any different than those of the Dominican?  I wondered. 

I guess there are predators wherever you go.

Shouldn’t we wait until morning, when the birdsong returns and the sky softens to be out of our nest? I thought.

But then…he peeked his head out from behind his perch at the bar.
Kind eyes.
Soft presence.

Standing tall.

Leading with his heart.

His vibrant feathers and confidence startled me, considering I was starting to draw my wings closer to my chest.

His chest puffed with a full heart.
He wasn’t hunting. Just watching. Just curious.

He asked Ladybug and I about our journey. 

“We met the guardians of the jungle: Morpho and Motmot!” we exclaimed.
And like that, the floodgates opened.
He knew birds.

He knew the plants.

He understood their medicine.
He had stories of them from all over the Jungle.

He invited us to a small nest to play Jenga so he could continue telling tales of the bird friends he’d made.

I felt weary, worried he was like the hawks across the street.

But I was safe with Ladybug.

I pulled my first block

Kiss a player. It mocked
I blushed, but declined.

On his turn he studied the wood. 

Gently pecking at each one of them.

“I feel like a woodpecker,” he said with a laugh, tapping the wood tower as if searching for its weakness.

My heart fluttered.
The woodpecker.
Here was my sign.
The Northern Flicker.
And there he was.
Not a predator.
Not a cage-builder.
Just… knocking.
Lightly.
Asking permission to play.
I walk over to Ladybug to tell her.
She matched my reaction.
“It’s him!” Her eyes exclaimed.
Shocked, feeling awake in a lucid dream, I stumbled back to the wood tower.
Clumsy. My body knocked the wood tower to the ground.
We laughed and got on our knees to pick up the wood. 

As I pick up the blocks, my next message…

Just do it. It read
We both blushed.
But he didn’t push.
No chasing.
No claws.
Just curiosity.
Respect.

I realized then…I had grown so used to cages,

I’d forgotten how to open the door from the inside.

I had locked my self in there with Tiger Striped Butterfly.

Tiger was my last love: Beautiful. Strong. Intense. 

He was from the MotherLand where trust isn’t so easily given. 

He was hesitant toward the world. Toward love. Toward bees. 

He’d clipped his own wings so he could protect himself from the world.

He feared my wings.

So he tried to clip them…

Told me love meant never flying too far.
That trust is not a gift to share with the world.
And eventually… I started to believe him.

They all say they want a butterfly,
Until they see how free she flies.

But not this one.

Northern Flicker just stood by.
Watching. Patient.

He said I reminded him of a flower.
One you water, not one you cut.

And that was enough.
Not a love story.
But a remembering.
That not all birds want to possess you.
Some just want to watch you bloom.

It’s time to let go. She reminds me 

It’s time to migrate back to the Rocky Mountains as the frost melts for Spring. 

I must get back…It’s pollinating season.

And as a busy Bumblebee, I have a lot of work to do. Flowers to pollinate. A garden to tend to.

But I take with me all I have learned from Ladybug, Tiger-Stripe and Northern Flicker. 

So slowly, I tend to my wings.

Peeking out the door of the hive I built around me. 

And letting the wind, once again, lift me up.