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  • Writer's pictureHannah Crazyhawk

The Hummingbird

Waves of grief washed over me as I stepped onto my patio to refill my bird feeders. I’ll miss these little creatures, my only company. I turned to the hummingbird feeder dangling a foot above my head. My local female, Anna’s hummingbird, zoomed up to inspect what her human was up to now. Unbothered by my presence, she landed on the feeder and took long sips of nectar. I slowly but decisively reached my hand up below the feeder and froze. My index finger extended just below her tail feathers. She finished her snack and hovered down to my hand. Curious, she poked my finger once with her bill. Then, perplexed, she stuck out her tongue and licked my finger.

Yes, I was just kissed by a hummingbird. Although I probably wasn’t as sweet as she hoped I would be. I think birds know when we are hurting the most. 

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