As with the spoken word, silence can also be understood.
One of my hummingbirds spoke to me the other day. Of course, it was in sign language, but none-the-less, communication was received and understood. I daily enjoy the three or four hummingbirds who have selected my sugar-water feeder as their favorite in the hood whether I’m watching them, one at a time, perch and drink during my breakfast, while lunching on the deck or as I’m passing by the patio door. I wish they would come in together to partake, but they don’t all get along. So, I watch them run each other off quite a bit. On Wednesday I was doing all those domestic, cleaning chores we never look forward to doing when I needed to rinse out a rag at the kitchen sink. While there, one of the female hummingbirds zipped in front of the kitchen window and hovered eye-to-eye with me. “Well, Hello” was what I said. I wasn’t quite sure what she was up to yet, as that was an unusual place for her to be. Although the kitchen sink window was quite some distance from the feeder, I didn’t think too much about it. She stayed in position the entire time I rinsed out the rag and then the sink. About five miutes later, during another pass I made at the sink, she did the same thing. I walked to the patio door and there she was, still eye-to-eye and less than eight inches from the glass. I looked up at the feeder and received the message, silent but clear. “You are my human, so please do something about this mess!” Although the feeder wasn’t empty, it was low and two dead wasps were floating in it. When I opened the door, she sped to a Bradford Pear branch to watch “operation change out.” She waited in the tree the entire fifteen minutes it took to drag the patio chair over for the climb, clean the feeder, mix and cool the sugar juice before hanging it back in place again. Before I could get back in the door, she was right next to me. I heard the buzz first, and when I turned my head, there she was and right at eye level again. If possible, she looked a little less intense, and I think she was giving me another message. “You’re welcome,” I said as she buzzed up to the feeder and wrapped the tiniest feet around the red, circular perch. Her tiny, tube beak sucked so much fluid in one draw, I was afraid she might get a head rush and fall off the perch. Isn’t nature simply wonderful? So, stay alert. The world and all it's living things are speaking to us.
Don’t forget to check out my “Author’s Holiday Give-Away” under "events" and enter before December 10th. Your biorhythms just might be in line for you on this one!
Explore the mystery of how nature makes unexpected gifts of creative wonders to an unsuspecting caregiver one late night and early morning in southeastern Georgia, USA.
