Joyas Voladoras

"You can brick up your heart as stout and tight and hard and cold and impregnable as you possibly can and down it comes in an instant, felled by a woman's second glance, a child's apple breath, the shatter of glass in the road, the words "I have something to tell you," a cat with a broken spine dragging itself into the forest to die, the brush of your mother's papery ancient hand in the thicket of your hair, the memory of your father's voice early in the morning echoing from the kitchen where is making pancakes for his children."

    The reason why I find this line so captivating in regards to the rest of the piece is that it is a juxtaposition from the rest of the text. In the beginning, Brian Doyle illustrates the life of a hummingbird, noting its amazing biology, plethora of colors and short-lived nature. Here Doyle makes the shift from the physical to the symbolic, comparing the human heart to that of a hummingbird. The hummingbird's weakness is their strength, a heart that pumps so ferociously that it kills them in the end. Likewise, our hearts are the death of us all, though not in the same manner. As much as we try to shield ourselves, to brick up our hearts so to speak, we cannot run from our emotions. The imagery used in this sentence are catalysts for our emotions, be it positive or negative. Doyle purposely creates a run-on to emphasize how expansive these instigating moments truly are.