As above, so below: white sky, white snakeroot. A hummingbird buzzes in to bother the jewelweed below the porch.
ruby-throated hummingbird
Sunny and cool. A hummingbird moves slowly along a porch rafter flicking the fast whip of her tongue, testing, tasting.
Light fog in the treetops. A hummingbird checks the hook where we hung a feeder two years ago, hovers in front of my face, goes back to the hook and looks at me.
Cool and crystal clear. The buzz of battling hummingbirds below the porch where jewelweed has eluded the deer.
Cloudy and cool. A male hummingbird pauses over the faded bergamot patch, then buzzes off.
Hazy but not yet hot. Hummingbirds circle the soapwort patch, as if following the red threads of bindweed.
Overcast and cool. Two deer run into the woods as another snorts alarm up in the field. Another hummingbird buzzes me, ruby gorget ablaze.
Warm and humid. A hummingbird interrupts my writing, hovering in front of my face, then zipping up to where a feeder once hung.
Cool and clearing. A hummingbird pauses on her way past the porch, attracted by the floorboards’ peeling red paint.
Rain. The hummingbird darts out to drink from her favorite spiderweb. Indigo bunting like the one blue leaf.
At the top of a dead stalk in the yard, a cup-shaped spiderweb retains drops of fog. A hummingbird circles, taking little sips.
The rain stops and the thrush singing at the woods’ edge is joined by warblers, flycatchers, pewee, thrasher, a hummingbird’s mad courtship flight…
White lilac blooming in the rain. A hummingbird buzzes my propped-up boots, his crimson gorget the brightest thing in the hollow.
And just like that, it’s autumn: clear and cool, the meadows yellow with goldenrod. A hummingbird visits the Mexican sunflower. How long till she’s off to Mexico herself?