A Compass

I sat in the window seat with my grandson Felix during a lull in the rain. He was, as he would say, “a bit sad,” but I showed him there were diamonds in the treetops, and in the distance, in the V-shaped space between two hills, a muted gray ocean was visible, a little like a triangle, a triangle-shaped sea. Now birds were reappearing, fluttering and boisterous, and one tiny hummingbird was sipping nectar from a trumpet-shaped honeysuckle beaker.

He’s drinking the nectar, I told Felix.

“What is nectar?” he asked.