Breathless
Planning to have something take your breath away is not the same as when it happens by surprise. I am sitting on my second-story back deck, posed behind my phone clipped into a tripod. The camera app is open, and my subject is in the center of the frame. The red circular video button stares back at me, daring me to press it and record something worthwhile.
Sunset is approaching, and the air is quickly cooling down, making me wish I changed out of my shorts and into pants. A nearby neighbor mowed his lawn, and the breeze carries the scent of freshly cut grass clippings.
About eight feet from me, hanging over the deck from a wrought-iron hook, is a hummingbird feeder. In the past two weeks, we have had numerous daily sightings. Each time we see a hummingbird, we do the same thing; all conversation stops, and the only movement we make is to reach for our phones so we can capture a picture.
Two nights ago, my son and I were sitting on the deck at sunset, entertained by hummingbirds coming in for one last drink before settling in for the night. We had watched speechlessly, holding our breath, as birds came and went from the feeder. They didn’t mind one bit that we were there. Our phones, held in front of our faces, didn’t seem to faze them. The photos of that night were truly breathtaking.
I did some research and learned these are Ruby Throated Hummingbirds. They weigh less than a nickel and flap their wings an amazing fifty-three times - per second! As I try to amaze my son with this newly acquired knowledge, he simply nods and says hummingbirds are the only birds that can fly backward. I ended up being the one impressed.
Inspired by that night, here I sit, waiting for beauty, prepared to capture it on video. The hummingbird feeder, the subject of my viewfinder, glows with the last rays of daylight. Just as I start to get discouraged, I notice something at the edge of my screen. My patience has paid off, sort of. Rather than alight on the feeder like the other night, this hummingbird hovers, darting left and right before retreating. Again, this happens, and the expression fleeting beauty comes to mind.
The third time is the charm as two hummingbirds approach the feeder. Seeing two birds come in at once is a first for me. But they don’t stay long. The second bird notices me and quickly disappears, taking the first bird with her.
I wonder if the tripod is getting the birds nervous, and I am reluctant to remove it. My previous video footage is shaky because of my breathing. Hard as I tried, I could not hold the phone completely still. Determined, I stand my ground, waiting for the moment to take my breath away. I am ready for it, watching and waiting for that perfect picture.
The light seems to be fading quicker now, and at first, I don’t even notice the hummingbird on the feeder. Her body is in perpetual motion. She appears still as she drinks, but a closer look shows her throat feathers vibrating as she swallows.
I can see her full profile and her white underbelly is the first thing I notice. It extends the length of her, ending at her beak. Her beak has a slight downward curve, and the way it abruptly extends from her face makes it look like she has swallowed a long, smokey-black thorn. The feathers that cascade down her back are her crowning feature. They are the same green color as a gecko and look more like scales on a fish than feathers, their iridescence glimmering as she moves.
Her beak dips into the flower, her long tongue lapping at the nectar to draw it in. As she pauses and looks around before taking another drink, it seems as if she is smiling. I can only imagine her joy at the sweetness of the nectar. It must be akin to what we feel when we place a spoonful of honey on our tongue. A door closes in the distance, and she is gone literally in a flash.
Again, a hummingbird comes to the feeder, and the video footage is unremarkable. The light and my good mood are gone at this point. As I continue to look in the viewfinder, I am starting to resent the red record button. Speaking out loud, I tell it that it doesn’t intimidate me. Catching myself, I take this as my cue that it is time to end this video session.
I notice movement on the right side of the yard, and it is when I take my eyes away from the viewfinder I see the beauty unfold. Far from the prying eye of my camera, I see a mother and baby bunny hopping in the grass.
And that’s when I hear it; a sharp intake into my lungs, and I find I am breathless. I was not ready for this. It is not what I expected. My camera is not aiming over there, and I have no recording of what happened. I have nothing to show. But I can close my eyes and replay the whole scene over again.
They are at the edge of the hosta garden, and the baby is following the mother. The mother turns back and nudges the baby bunny into the garden, back to the safety of the canopy of large-leaved plants. She pushes the baby under the lush green leaves, then turns and hops towards the front yard. The baby peeks out to see the mother go and then backs up, disappearing into the natural camouflage.
And I deeply exhale. Beauty does that, coming when we least expect it and taking our breath away.
photo courtesy of Tommy Eccleston