Hummingbirds are delightful little creatures. We get up in the morning and take our coffee to the back patio in our bathrobes, and sit near two feeders suspended from the awning. The minute the sun starts lightening the sky, the hummers zoom out of their nests in the leafy tree in our backyard, and they zip over for a sip of the nectar I make every week. We love to watch them fly between the feeders, hover above a fake blossom, dart in for a quick drink, and then zip back to the tree. Sometimes they perch and drink long and deep, and we sit silently, almost afraid to breathe lest we startle them.
Hummingbirds are extremely territorial, and we’ve christened the hummer who has claimed our backyard as his territory ‘The Boss’. He’s easily recognizable because he has a black head and a white ring around his neck, while the others are plainer and almost all brown and green. We’ve counted four distinct birds besides the Boss. Poor things. If they come within visual range of the feeders, the Boss zooms over, his tail flared out to double his normal size, chattering with a volume that belies his tiny stature. Usually the intruder flies off without a fight. Sometimes the Boss has to get in their faces, though, and we’ve seen some spectacular mid-air encounters. The Boss always wins. Unless, of course, the others sneak in covertly when he’s busy elsewhere. We’re supporters of the underdogs, and we quietly cheer them on as they drink their fill in his absence. Sometimes they even gang up on The Boss – one will draw his fire while the other zips in behind his back for a quick sip. We love it, and sit there fascinated.
I don’t have a deep, profound, spiritual parallel to draw from our hummingbirds. There’s probably lots the Lord could teach me through my backyard pets if I asked Him. But I haven’t. Instead, we just sit there in the mornings, watching the sun come up over the mountains and admiring the antics of one of His creations. He’s there with us. That’s enough.