My sweetheart once found this felted hummingbird nest on the ground. It was about as long as my thumb, but a little broader, and the opening was tiny – about the size of an English penny.
The nest looked extremely cosy, like a tiny rucksack, though it’s hard to imagine any bird could fit inside it. Sadly, the slender supporting branch had broken off, perhaps in a storm. There was no sign of a bird and no way to tell how long it had been there. We hung the twig in an acer to take a picture.
As Laurie is looking out for hummingbird pictures to share, I wanted to reciprocate, so I dug this out of my files. I’ve never managed to take a picture of a hummingbird. I have sometimes seen them, to my delight, when I’ve been in the Southern United States, but am usually too stunned to even reach for a camera.
There is something miraculous about hummingbirds – the way they hover around a flower seems more like a bee than a bird.
I once witnessed one in a battle over a flower with a Monarch butterfly, shattering some of my bucolic illusions of both creatures. Neither was willing to give up the prospect of nectar. That gave some perspective for an article I found online: How to deal with an angry hummingbird.
Chance would be a fine thing! I wish we had them in England. They would need overcoats, but it looks like they could weave them, if they set their minds to it.