The Hummingbird Feeder

Rather than having a garage as typical American houses do, my house contained a carport.

On that carport, there was a swing that squeaked each time it swung. My sister hated the noise and thus, never came out.

On that carport, there was a giant black tool box that rattled each time my father dug in it. It sat against the obsidian railing, and I loved the normality of it, loved to see my father out…