I Can Hear the Wings But I Can't See the Hummingbird

I recently put out my hummingbird feeders. I have several that I used to diligently put out at my old house. Since we moved a couple of years ago, I have been rather lazy about putting out food for any other animals than the ones who currently reside inside the house. This year I felt the need to try and entice my hummers to visit. My feeders would draw the hummingbirds, several at a time, doing their tactical maneuvers, wooshing past me and the lazy dogs sleeping in the sun. I would spend hours just watching them, amazed at their tiny frames doing what I was certain were physically impossible stunts. I love hummingbirds, their rather gruff chirping for such delicate creatures and their incessant need to guard the foodstuff, although as I wrote earlier, was plentiful. I do not own single piece of hummingbird paraphernalia. You will not see one hummingbird gooby in my house. I love the real ones, the ones who fly in to our area in the spring and disappear after September. I do not have a good or bad reason for not hanging my feeders here at this house until now. Maybe it is my lack of motivation to commit, or my need to keep things very simple while I am on my own. Maybe I wanted to wallow in my solitude, until now. Maybe my age had allowed me to forget I even had feeders until I recently went through some unattended boxes. Whatever reason I had, either consciously or subconsciously, it no longer matters, because the feeders out and the hummers are here. Now is what matters, right? We planted fruiting trees, blooming shrubs and vines that crawl the length of our fence. This foliage, while providing us shade and cooler air, also provide the environment for butterflies, geckos and now hummingbirds. All these delectable plants that are growing, blooming, sprouting off shoots are changing our yard into a haven for the tiny wildlife I so adore. Inside the arboretum that is our back yard, I have witnessed the largest butterflies I have ever seen. These mammoth winged beauties float around our yard. The day I buried my beloved cat, a long haired black and white lion king, I had put the last shovel of dirt on his grave when floating by me so close as to nearly touch me, a giant black and white butterfly landed on our blooming sweet almond verbena. My tears mixed with awe as I watched it fly around our yard and then disappear over the roof line. A sign, I thought, that Matches could see the love and return it without ever being present as he once was. One day as I sat outside in the humid air, sipping iced coffee, taking in natures sights and sounds, when a group of butterflies, I believe there were about five of them, began flying in a circle inside our gazebo. I sat grinning ear to ear, watching as they gracefully followed the circle as if they were attempting nothing more than to entertain me. It was magical. The only person I wanted to share this with was the one person with whom I have the least amount of time. I could call him, describe the beauty, the magic, the wonder of the moment, but I knew it would not be the same for him as it was for me. I have this toad, my friend, I now refer to as Mr. Toad, yes in reference to his wild ride, comes out of hiding every morning to sit with me while I have coffee. I turn on the outside light and the bugs all come and gather. Mr. Toad hops out to enjoy a hearty breakfast as I watch him gobble one insect after another. When my coffee time is finished and it is time to go back in to get ready for the day, he hops back from where he came. Much like my alarm clock, this early morning meeting has become inevitable. I have this tie to the nature that has come to our garden. I am respectfully staying a safe distance in order to allow them their confidence, while they entertain me for hours with what I think may be their mundane tasks. I sat one morning thinking of what it would be like if some creature were far above me watching my mundane tasks. would that creature find me as entertaining, as awe inspiring? Would vacuuming be equally as impressive to someone of a much larger intellect? Probably not, but the thought amused me, and if nothing else, being amused is something I need, so I allowed it. The caterpillars that ate my passion vine are now butterflies. The grubs that Bobo so likes to chew on, are now full grown beetles. The baby geckos that once took shelter in our small planters are now mating. They are evolving by leaps and bounds over the last few months, as have I. The hummers are here for another month and then they will migrate further south for the winter. I must take the time to watch them now, before they go and the feeders go back into storage. I wondered where I would be living in the next migratory season. I wondered if the feeders would ever make their way out of the large plastic container to be filled and hung, as lay in wait for the tiny birds to arrive. This weekend while Michael was home, we had to have several large, looming conversations. It was draining, scary, vulnerable, indecisive. These talks were everything I have come to hate about talking. I am not as comfortable at throwing myself bare, as one might think. But much like taking the garbage out, it had to be done. It was a group of kitchen sink talks. We had to discuss everything including the kitchen sink. Today it is about Dan and his birthday, making cookies, cooking a favorite meal. We stop for a few moments, and he takes my hand. He looks at me full in the face, and I see every word, every feeling, every fear, anxiety, hope and dream. There will be more conversations, more talking, and I will be better prepared. I promised him and me that this period of time will not be wasted, will not be misused, but rather respected for the changes it will inevitably bring. I will not be able to transform into a butterfly, and one would think that would be a fair outcome of all this growth. I will however take a lesson from them and remember it is up to me whether or not I can fly.