"A flash of harmless lightening,
A mist of rainbow dyes,
The burnished sunbeams brightening.
From flower to flower he flies."
-John Banister Tabb
Something made me smile today. It was the sight of a gorgeous ruby-throat-ed hummingbird feeding on one of the few remaining trumpet vine flowers in my back yard. It should not be too many days now before they all gather for their grueling non-stop journey to Mexico where they will spend the winter months. How such tiny fragile souls can fly thousands of miles non-stop through all manner of perils is beyond human comprehension. These feisty green fairies always make me smile, not only because I love to watch them, but because they remind me of happy memories when my precious cat Sweet Pea and I used to sit in the garden in the evenings and watch the hummers feed on the trumpet vine flowers.
So, in honor of the most lovely and amazing tiny creatures in my garden today, and every day, here are some poems.
Minutest of the feathered kind,
Posessing every charm combined,
Nature, in forming thee, designed
A proof within how little space
She can comprise such perfect grace,
Rendering the lovely; fairy race.
- Charlotte Smith
A route of evanescence
With a revolving wheel;
A resonance of emerald,
A rush of cochineal;
And every blossom on the bush
Adjusts its tumbled head,
The mail from Tunis, probably,
An easy morning's ride.
- Emily Dickinson
In a crook of a branch of the Queen Flowers tree
Precariously it swayed with every breeze
Reminding him of that infant lulaby.
The Mother poked her head out frequently
Fiercely defensive of the treasure
In her small abode.
This totemic treasure carried folklore
Within its ingenious plaitings
A superior intelligence at work.
Functional and minimalist
Her crimson crest and iridescent
Feathers made her the most
Powerful bird in the world.
As she hovered in mid-air stationary
Like a helicopter searching.
Her eyes reminded in the dynamic flashes
The fate that befell those long ago
Who broke the taboo of her death.
Who now on certain moonlit nights
Howl their pain in lonely hours
Over the well known lake of pitch.
The boy approached. The mother flew.
He saw the eggs such miniature art
And stretched his hands to touch.
She zipped past his ear screeching
Warning of a second totem in anger.
He understood the warning dire
Looked as they lay in their resplendent nest
Climbed down and withdrew from the nest.
The mother circled her treasure
Then calmly brooded.
Overhead thunder suddenly rolled
In the brightness of the day lightening flashed.
- Anson Gonzalez
Until next time .................
Be Well and Happy.
(And Sweet Pea from heaven who is still
watching the green fairies)