THANKFUL FRIDAY

Every time we camped in Colorado, I would set out our hummingbird feeder. There were times when I would be stepping out the camper door with the feeder in my hands and I would be swarmed by hummingbirds. They had no fear of me as they perched on the feeder I was holding. I would spend hours watching them buzz in and out of our campsite. If there are magical creatures, the hummingbird must be on that list. They truly are a marvel of evolutionary design and I don’t think I will ever grow weary of watching them, but they are migratory. They chase the warmth of the sun, a need I can respect and desire for myself and have been known to travel over 3,000 miles in their migrations. Every night, hummingbirds slow their metabolism down as a way of saving energy and enter a state known as torpor, a hibernation state of deep sleep. They often use spider webbing and lichens to build nests. They sleep in beds made of spider silk. And that sounds like a magical fairytale all by itself.

I took my hummingbird feeder down this week. It has been days since I have seen a hummingbird. For a while there, I had three of them fighting over my feeder. They were my favorite things to watch. One would perch on the cable line and keep watch. When another bird would fly near the feeder, the one hanging out on the line would zip down and off they’d go. Like fighter jets zipping around in the air. In the quiet moments, when they were not arguing over who gets to eat, you would have the privilege of watching one of the hummingbirds hover by the feeder, taking tentative slurps from the sugar water. Sometimes they would get comfortable enough to perch at the feeder. In the evening, the sun reaches a level where it shines directly from the West into our yard. It can be blinding, but this is my favorite time of day to watch the hummingbirds. Their wings are almost translucent as they filter the light.

My hummingbirds are not as bold or brave as the hummingbirds I have met in Colorado. They are tentative as they approach the feeder and any sudden moves sends them darting off. In order for me to watch them, I have to sit very still. I have to be still to watch their wings beating at a rate of eighty eight per second. It seems almost comical to me that this fast tiny bird creates stillness within me and I will miss them through the winter months. But, oh the gift of joy that I receive when they return in the Spring. I am building my own nest of spider silk to tuck these memories into so that I may hold them close as the days grow darker and colder.

Today I am grateful for spider silk nests.