I may have made friends with a hummingbird.
I love hummingbirds, most people do. Among the most fantastical of birds, they measure about 3-5 inches. Known by the humming sound created by their beating wings, they flap at high frequencies audible to humans. It has taken more than a million fine samples of aerodynamic force and airflow combined to determine what makes a hummingbird's wings so adept at hovering.
Sure, that's what I knew then. Here is what I know now, now that my hummingbird comes to see me every time I am out in the hot tub, early in the mornings. They make a distinct clicking sound. Almost like a mechanical chirping. When I hear that sound, a reliable few seconds go by and then voila — HB makes a grand entre.
Of course, it may be my newly-placed hummingbird feeder. I'm sure that's part of it. Does HB know that I have cooked up a sickeningly-sweet syrup in my kitchen the old-fashioned way and then oh-so-carefully poured in 11.5 ounces of what the feeder will hold? Or does HB really prefer the "scientifically-studied healthy choice" electro nectar?
I have yet to determine if HB is a he or she. HB shows up when I am fully naked, does that tell me something? Not really. HB and his families aren't ashamed of their bodies, why should they be? They are among the most beautiful...