hummingbirds...almost... fledged

Friday morning, a hummingbird check revealed that one of the pair had fledged. That's great -- but the remaining sibling looked forlorn. Out of the comforting nest, he was sitting on the pipe, facing the big world. I had a great view of his tiny body. Alarmingly...there was no wing buzzing.

Thank goodness mom, in her incomparable wisdom, had not only attached bugs the ceiling, barely out of reach unless one lifts off slightly, but also laid in a supply on the pipe supporting the nest. There little Buddy sat, pecking a bit at the ones close by, preening a bit. But way too quiet.

A new cashier at the Summit has gotten into birdwatching. She thinks it's sweet how much I care, but has become an avid hummer watcher herself. Yesterday, I made a handful of visits, instead of just one. On my first arrival, she said, 'One of them is gone!!!' The next, ' Some of the students have noticed what you're watching. Just think, they're so close...but hadn't realized what a miracle is happening on the other side of the glass.' By this time, she could tell I was concerned, and, when I returned for a late lunch, she tried to reassure me: 'He'll be fine', and gave me 50 cents off my teriyaki rice bowl.

That's when I started hating that it was Friday. What would happen to him? How will I know he made it out OK...will he be cold tonight without his sibling? I had never seen one outside the nest: Was something wrong? Could there be a wing equipment malfunction?

I did my last check after work. There he was. Sitting and staring. I stayed longer than my usual brief visits, hoping to see Mom swoop in and give him a pep talk. I started wondering if this might really be Mom herself, sitting, pondering motherhood, cleaning up the scene a bit.

Then - a bit of wing buzzing! Then more and more. Then, Buddy made some quick, short flights, directly under the overhang and not anywhere near the exit arches of the wall, always returning to the pipe. I finally pulled myself away, at least knowing he was gaining confidence, but wondering now about his sense of direction.

It's Saturday. I think I'll stop in at work.

Wish I could give proper credit for the photo, but sometimes there's not enough info on a Google image search.

feathers...

Continuing, from a brief exchange with Robyn:

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all. Emily Dickinson

There was a lot of indiscriminate, adolescent wing-buzzing in the hummer nest today. They're still too tiny to fly, I say. One was barely hanging on with toenails. Surprised he didn't just launch himself into orbit.

Despite my preemptive and informative fax and email, begging them not to until all was clear, Physical Plant came to wash the window today. Granted, mom splats the plate glass with bird doo-doo, so as to obscure the view from the tables on the other side. And this is the time of year workers beautify the campus for commencement. But after they pressure-washed a nest into oblivion 3 years ago (I nearly threw up), they've received reminders & alerts from me - along with promises of keeping them informed of when they've fledged.

Employees in the area alerted them and they did a 'gentle' clean. But, what if they hadn't been caught in time? Sheesh. Pay attention. Even the smallest of all birds is supremely important.

the whole creation groans...and rages...and hums...

Yesterday's tragedy at Virginia Tech - perhaps appropriately - inspires muteness. I read the news, voraciously, but attempts at knowing and understanding do not replace shock. My heart aches for all, beginning with victims and families and ending with perpetrator and his family.

Rage is a part of what is wrong in creation. Does it just seem so -- or is it indeed more pervasive in our world, both human and animal? Is our abused planet contributing to the corruption of psyches and senses? I wonder...I groan...

Now, I'm reminded that Gerard Manley Hopkins poem, God's Grandeur quoted in a previous post , includes language of creation laboring... trod... seared... bleared... smeared... toil... bare... before it gets to the the assuring disclaimer And for all this, nature is never spent; There lives the dearest freshness deep down things...

Despite yesterday's mayhem, the Holy Ghost certainly 'broods over the bent world' today in the personage of our mommy hummingbird, whose nest is visibly stuffed with feathers and two discernable heads with beaks. Just above this hallowed nativity scene has appeared the usual annual assortment of dead bugs...adhered to the ceiling by a wisely tempting mom...who, perhaps not completely oblivious to the pain in the world, has chosen for her design not a simple circle...but a halo...to entice the babes to look up.

A note on my computer states 'Practice Resurrection'. I think she just has.