I wish you could see what I see when I do my homework outdoors — the hummingbirds turn into divas.
It’s been so warm here, I’ve been toting my little computer table (thanks, Ikea) out to the deck to study.
The hummingbirds don’t like it.
Although I park myself as far from the feeder as possible, they’re indignant.
They buzz me — only inches from my face — and whir and hum, in fury.
The first time this happened, I was alarmed. Those teensy beaks look sharp and I had no idea what they might do, if they grew too close.
I froze, so as not to disturb them more.
I adopted my best meditative pose. I relaxed, and sent out positive thoughts. Perhaps a human can reach a hummingbird through mental vibrations …
I lugged my books indoors and studied on the other side of the window so they could have breakfast.
I’ve tried again, several times, trying not to move a muscle or breathe whenever one of the divas rises up, Matrix-like, in a vertical hum to check her feeder. The males disappear in a flash, their copper heads catching the early morning sun in a way that always thrills. They only want to fight.
Their tsk-tsk-tsk grows louder, and they clash with everything that moves in our treetop neighborhood.
The divas go straight to the feeder now, not bothering to waste any of that tiny, precious energy on such a big intrusion. We have one emerald Anna’s and one with a wide band of white at her throat.
They’ll hover in that crazy vertical that astonishes. They’ll watch me cautiously, with their black, beady eyes. They’ll try different spots on the feeder, and cock their head at me, as if to show they’re still mighty annoyed.
And then they’ll do what divas do: Make a big sound and do exactly as they please.
I’m grateful for every second of joy with “our” hummingbirds — I just wish you could see the divas perform too.
I wish you could see what I see is a random feature at living in gratitude.