It is a beautiful day, a grey rainy day, a day for puerh tea and dark chocolate with sea salt. A day for hummingbirds, who are out in force here lately in any weather. Perhaps it’s their high metabolisms, propelling them out into the rain in search of food when other birds are tucked snugly in the dry shelter of the pines.
Whatever the reason, the hummers are everywhere. I expect now to see one every time I glance out the kitchen window to the feeder that hangs from a corner of the house. They perch for minutes at a time on the string of lights festooned across the porch, which they seem to have decided is a hummingbird-sized power line installed specifically for their benefit. They duck and zoom, driving each other away from the sugar syrup and over the house or into the oak tree, which has become a hummingbird high-rise crammed with the little critters. I’m pretty sure some mighty hummingbird-mama has raised a bunch of babies in there, because lately I’m seeing a lot of teensier-than-usual hummers.
But they’re not just at the feeder. They’re on the other side of the house, the wrong side, the side where there’s nothing I can imagine they’d eat. They appear at the window of my writing room, sometimes darting up to the window and staring me down through the screen. One was just examining the floodlights on the corner of the house, which possibly looked like giant silver blossoms.
Though the yard is lousy with them, their magic doesn’t fade. Every single flash of green-and-white is a tiny revelation, a call to be still and watch. Wait. Learn. They sit in the rain, fluffing themselves up and preening, reminding me that they are birds with an ancient lineage that links them both to my hens and to the dinosaurs. Their beaks are stilettos, and though they be but little, they are fierce as hell.
I love them–their viciousness wrapped in petite prettiness, their improbable toughness, their sheer persistence. No other bird is out in this rain. Their calls sound behind the soft grey veil, but they’re not flying. Only the hummingbirds are out in this weather, undaunted. They not only seem not to mind the rain–they almost seem to prefer it. I see more of them in this weather than when it’s sunny.
I crave this weather. Sometimes I think I’m wired wrong. Rain makes me as giddy as spring sunshine after a long winter makes most people. In part, it’s because the rain seems to heighten everything–colors are sharper, smells richer, and sounds fall on the ear like seaglass, tumbled to a new patina. Woodsmoke and diesel in rain are almost tastes in the air rather than scents.
Even more than this heightening, though, is the liminality of rain. Sunny days are straightforward, but rainy ones seem like an impossible magic. The air is full of water, a sea of drops. The spheres of elements meet and mingle, and when the rain mixes with smoke and the perfume of rich rotting loam, an alchemical transformation happens. All the elements, all at once, mixed in a concoction that must surely transmute base metals into gold.
Soon the gold will follow as the leaves change. The hummers will move south, taking the tiny vital dramas of their lives, brief loves, and lasting wars with them. I will miss them. It’s tempting to write off itsy-bitsy critters as “cute,” forgetting that we are no more alive than they. These hummingbirds are strong, valiant, stubborn. They traverse the in-between zone of air/water with astonishing grace and vigor.
In another world I would have been an ornithomancer, I think. In this world, I content myself with birdwatching, learning what I can and scrying the rest with the scant wisdom available to me, imagining the stories they weave through the rain-drenched atmosphere.
8 thoughts on “Hummingbirds in Rain”
Taking a moment to read this post was the highlight of my morning. As a student constantly swamped with analytical scholarly articles, I often forget the joy that can come from reading. Thank you for reminding me!
Thanks so much, Raven! I’ve been there–it’s easy to forget that reading is also supposed to be fun. I’m really pleased that you enjoyed my post. Good luck with your studies! What are you reading about?
Ahhhhh… Thank you, Brenna! As I anticipate unemployment, more job searches, and re-creating myself for the 10th time, your post is a breath of fresh air. Plus, I had to look up “scrying”. 😊
Wow, you’ve got a lot going on in your world! Self-recreation is so exciting/scary/hard, and I think people forget that it’s not just something that happens in adolescence, but throughout our lives. I wish you great success in the journey. I’m sure you will metamorphose into an even mightier Stan than before (if that is possible). 🙂
Such gorgeous writing! When I was in Costa Rica 20+ years ago, I went to a hummingbird “sanctuary” and I thought the name was unnecessary as these Caribbean hummers were HUGE (in comparison to their northern cousins) and they were MEAN. They dive-bombed each other with such a ferocity that I found myself releasing tiny little screams at regular intervals. I love the idea of the tiny package not telling the whole story… Or something like that. :O) I think you should come for a visit – the rainy season is mighty long where I’m from. You’d love it!
Thanks, Barb! Lately I’ve been thinking that I would love living in the PNW. And I would love to visit! The phrase “rainy season” makes me feel all smiley. And hummingbirds–yes, they are MEAN! Our tiny ones scare the bejeebies out of me when they whiz angrily overhead out of nowhere. I imagine their big Caribbean cousins are extra-intimidating!
Huitzilopochtli, Aztec war god, is often represented as a hummingbird. Aztecs apparently recognized attitude before size, talons, etc.
We sometimes mount feeders on both the western and eastern windows of our bedroom. Every so often a comedy routine occurs when hummers arrive simultaneously at each feeder and see the other across the room. Each then roars around the entire house to the opposite feeder, sees the other across the room, and the cycle repeats. They are so fast it seems almost like some sort of quantum oscillation as they swap location without actual movement.
The Aztecs clearly knew what they were talking about! How funny about your hummers–those critters really are vicious!! Your description of them is absolutely charming, and spot-on.
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