Hummingbird

I met a hummingbird the other day. It was the second one I've seen in San Francisco. I wish I had a picture. He was grey-brown, with a bright magenta throat and a white belly. I know this because as I stood and watched him hover around some orange flowers (were they nasturtiums?), he came over and flew around me. And it wasn't a coincidence. He was looking right at me. And I wasn't sure if he was thinking he was going to find nectar in the furry edging on my jean jacket or if he was plotting to attack me, but anyway, he (or she) made several passes, hovering at various points around me, before going back to the flowers, and eventually disappearing into the air.

It's amazing how much energy a hummingbird has. You don't expect it, because they are so small, and they look so benign and dainty in pictures. But there is really nothing benign or dainty about them when one of them is looking at you like he or she is about to drive his pointy little beak into your flesh. Ah, but such is nature. And the beating of their wings is nothing short of miraculous. That in itself seems to create something like a cloud of energy that's palpable once you get within a certain radius. It's awesome and it's humbling. It makes you feel small to be near this tiny thing that takes up more space than you do.