Winter Hummingbirds

Looks who's still here.  The little bugger.  Two of our three resident hummers are still here, that I've seen, which compared to this time last year, is considerably late.  In 2012, they left in mid-to-late November, only to return in early spring when the weather dipped regularly into the high 50s and low 60s.  Perhaps they will stay all winter this time...

One can surely hope.

* * *

If not, dear hummingbird,
would a hummingbird-sized heat lamp
be enticing enough for you to stay?

The Lesson

Oh, little hummingbirds, so brash and brazen, full of life, perhaps I have some lessons to learn from you about certain things.  I've never understood the fast-paced life: the scheduling of every minute of every daytime hour, day in and day out, without a moment of meaningful repose until bedtime.  The mental and physical exhaustion that lures us into fitful sleep.  Why is it that humans generally believe that each day must be jam packed with meetings and a heavy workload, last-minute excursions, and stilted conversation in order to feel like they are truly living?  Hummingbirds, although so quick to movement, take the time to observe--left goes their heads, and then right, their needle-like beaks giving away the slight changes in direction of their glances.  They do this ritual dozens of times per day: sensing for danger, maintaining territory, resting their wings, preserving their precious energy.  It's like each movement has a specific purpose.  I have yet to see a dumbfounded hummingbird, but dumbfounded humans?  They are a dime a dozen.  I say take a lesson from the hummers.

Mid-Year Thoughts

Is it already past the mid-year point?  I cannot even begin to fathom how quickly the year has unfolded, molding itself into a largely non-linear course of days, weeks, and months--culminating in now.  Some days feel infinitely longer than others, while others overlap and converge.  Is it the onset of age that makes one forget what one did yesterday?  At least it's written in my journal.  You see, that's something that I've begun doing on a regular basis just this year--after a handful of years of intermittent journalese and stream-of-consciousness scribbling.

When I reflect back on the six months of time immediately past, a recurring thought is:

How is it to be?

As in a general time frame and, more specifically, mortality--the age-old identifier of getting old.  It's not that I fear aging, since it's actually quite the opposite, as I fully embrace it.  Age, for me, is merely a number that grows in increments of one per year.  But some people mourn the years that are forgotten, the messy lost years. 

* * *

A few weeks ago now, I printed out seven copies of my thesis to be bound and submitted for summer 2013 graduation.  My husband took the ambient-rich shot below, of five copies, for the other two had yet to be printed.  It has taken me a difficult six years to obtain this degree, but I realize that time--so fleeting, so terse--has a strange way of providing lessons; coming full circle.

  

Taking a peek outdoors, I spy on our hummingbirds, stealth-like and spry, in hopes of one day being ignored rather than spied on.  With their daredevil spirit, hummingbirds make up for their diminutive size.  If only we were so gallantly protective, graceful, and street smart--all at the same time.  However, if hummingbirds were human, I am unsure if I would like them more than I do now.

The future holds infinite possibilities against a darkened sky. I just have to seek them out, push myself to look beyond the deepening horizon, and try.  Trying is the most difficult part of it all; at times it is the dooming precursor of frustration more than the origin of inspiration.  But it's always the process that is itself, contradictory: while confining one like a canary, the process can allow for a critical learning experience, too.  Like journalese and stream-of-consciousness scribbling, attempts at uncovering the unknown are ultimately, undoubtedly worth it--to the bleary eyed and worn, included.

Bittersweet

Oh, my little hummingbird friends, how I will miss you so--as the crisp autumn weather becomes increasingly more permanent; as the days inch closer and closer to mid-October: only to gently ease into shortened winter days.  In this festive palette of golds and reds--and oranges, too--you will most likely flock off to a warmer place in search of both adequate shelter and food. 

But will our hummingbird feeder entice you to stay, all two or three of you? 

We will see, come mid-November--when the trees become bare and the sky tinges with reflections of the golds, and reds, and oranges, too, from the hibernating earth below--if you shall stay, or if you shall go.  If it is the latter, I will surely miss you so, as I count down the days to mid-spring in hopes of your return.

The Hummingbirds

I've been spending some extra time in our yard since spring has sprung, hoping to catch a glimpse of the three hummingbirds that showed up and left last year.  They left just as quietly as they came: the feathered beauties stayed on til November 2011, migrating to a warmer climate when the winter chill set in.  Since the petite birds were a new sight within the last twelve months, I was curious to see if they'd return this spring.

The hummingbirds, lo and behold(!), have returned.  However, there are now only two, rather than the three from last year.  I hope that the third is just off on a hummingbird trek somewhere, perhaps courting another of its kind in a nearby yard...

***

It was only today that I saw the pair gracefully halting in mid-air, playing a delightful game of air tag.  Beauty, I find, is in what we oftentimes take for granted, the hurriedly sidestepped and the unknowingly cast aside.  The things that leave us breathless when we take a deep breath, and in response, contently sigh. 

Hummingbird

I spent the afternoon reading Romola in the warm sunlight (a treat after hours of researching earlier in the day), which was comforting because there was a bit of a breeze permeating the air.  Otherwise, sitting outside would have been too hot for my mild weather-inclined self.  Right as I was about to return inside for refuge from the sun, my husband came out--and we saw the most sweetest sight: two hummingbirds sitting calmly next to each other on the electricity wire.  So that was where the high-pitched chirping that I had heard all afternoon came from!  Wait a minute...hummingbirds actually sit like other birds?  Yes.  It was a new fact to us both, and we reveled in our attempts to capture these elusive creatures flitting about in our yard, returning to their tree home, and alternately sitting on the electricity wire; there were three in total.

I was surprised by how often they would move their heads when sitting on the wire, as if the movement would help elicit a fight or fight response in case of a predators.  We took pictures--lots of them.  Here is a collage of a hummingbird on the wire; we missed the photo opportunity when two were sitting there.  I wish that I captured the showy iridescence of the bird's plumage, but the lighting and angle from which I took the pictures (pointing upward) were not conducive to bringing out a colorful display of plumage.