Hummingbirds in July

I never tire of

the thrill and mystique of a 

hummingbird sighting.

At the hosta blooms,

pentas, echinacea, or

the blue Russian sage.

Today one perched on

a hosta stem for a rest.

Its tiny black feet,

like delicate wires,

curled around the tender stalk.

The stalk didn't bend.

~dkm 348/365 

The Power of ZOOM or The Luxury of Fearlessness

A hummingbird came to investigate me on the deck this morning, where I sat with my first cup of coffee, still and silent, reading Physics for Future Presidents. (Don't ask. It's for book club, in the interests of being neighborly---the Good Neighbors Bookclub, to be precise.)

But how is it that so often two things converge coincidentally in one's awareness so as to give an extra punch to one's understanding? In this case it was the hummingird's behavior against the backdrop of my reading.

The sun was up. I was aware of the activity at the red-globed feeding station but chose to ignore it, engrossed as I was in Muller's explanation of the relationship between energy and power.

Engrossed and ignoring, that is, until a female hummer came to a full hovering stop in front of me---close enough that I could hear the hum of her wings, which is what arrested my attention---and close enough to be within the short range focus of my reading glasses, about eighteen inches from my face.

We looked directly into each other's eyes, in sharp focus, she and I.

It was a spectacular moment, full of fearless curiosity---a luxury afforded a hummingbird only by its remarkable ability to go from the proverbial zero to sixty in an instant---that is, to rapidly transform and multiply its energy into power. The power of sudden speed. A hummingbird could not thus check me out had it not the ability to ZOOM if I moved. It all lends an interesting perspective on the powerful vs. the powerless relative to size---and to world peace. dkm

Hummingbird Feet

I promised a post about hummingbird feet, so here it is. I was actually surprised to discover that hummingbirds had feet at all, heretofore believing the myth that they never light. That myth was debunked within an hour of hanging a new beautiful feeder on the deck.

"Hang it and they will come." Right away. Who knew so many hummingbirds were waiting nearby for a pretty red feeder? This one doubles as a garden ornament, brushed copper with shiny red glass globe. A bit pricey, but when I saw it at my local hardware store, I couldn't resist---having wanted a hummingbird feeder but refusing to hang the tacky red & yellow plastic variety. But I digress.

Back to the little black legs and feet that hang like two fine three-pronged wires under the floppy torsos of the tiny bird bodies hovering around the feeder. Tiny they are, but perch they do. All the time. They zoom back and forth between the cherry trees and the feeder, lighting on exposed twigs and occasionally even on the feeder itself. Their legs are no longer than 1/2 inch. The little prongs for feet are like the bent end of a staple, only black. I can't take my eyes off them, wondering at their size.

Of course, the hovering and nectar sipping acrobatics are equally noteworthy, but those I knew to expect. The feet I didn't. I can guess that experienced hummer watchers would be shocked at my ignorance. I also predict this will not be my last post about these remarkable ruby-throated gems. dkm

Apology to a Small Creature

Early this morning, within my peripheral vision, something large, silent, and swift descended into one of the hydrangeas near the deck where I sat contemplating the hummingbirds at the feeder. This is the season in which hummingbirds come by twos, threes, and fours, nattering away at each other. I had intended to write about their tiny hanging feet today, but the Cooper's Hawk in the hydrangea instantly changed my focus.

A noisy rustling skirmish in the leaves under the bush indicated the hawk's success at hunting its breakfast, but then---oh terrible then---it abandoned the prey it had only maimed, spread its powerful wings, and flapped twice to perch on the back of a patio chair facing away from me, not ten yards from where I sat. I know not if it was aware of my presence when it first attacked the hapless creature below, but now it turned its head and looked me in the eye. I hadn't moved except to turn my head toward the skirmish. Was I the reason the hawk so cruelly left that poor creature to an agonizing death? I shuddered at the piteous konk-konk-konk-konking in the throat of the small dying thing, whatever it was. I could see the movement of the leaves, and hear the konks, but could not identify it---could have been a bird or a chipmunk hidden in the dry leaf cover.

After a few seconds of eyeing me from the chair, the young hawk, with horizontally striped tail and white splotchy feathers in its back, flapped to a new perch on the fence, where it stayed for several minutes before offing into the woods with only two flaps and a glide. A few minutes later, it startled me again by flap-flap-gliding past my shoulder, low and close enough for me to hear the whir of its wings against the air, though it did not return to the place of its terrible deed. Again it disappeared into the woods. Had it been stalking me to see if it was safe to return to its breakfast? Is this the same young hawk that has watched me garden?

From under the hedge adjacent to the hydrangea, where the maimed prey was somehow able to take refuge, the konking slowly, gradually, terribly, grew weaker and weaker, until it stopped after about ten minutes.

It is not to my credit that I was too squeamish to assist it to a faster death. I have neither the heart nor the stomach for such a task. But now I must live with the aural memory of those diminishing konks, wondering at my responsibility in this event.

The hummingbird feet will keep until a later post. dkm