Martin LeFevre: Learning From Hummingbirds

Meditations - From Martin LeFevre in California

Learning From Hummingbirds

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It was a very windy day, with gusts up to 50 miles per hour. You would think the hummingbirds would be hunkered down somewhere. But a small fleet of them put on an incredible show in the backyard.

Six or eight of the tiny aerial acrobats at a time swooped, hovered, and dove with astounding agility on the buffeting currents of air. They often buzzed within inches of my head, hovering for a few seconds at a time in front of one’s face.

Though my back was only a foot from the wall, they even did numerous high-speed loops around me, two or three at a time, as if I was a pylon in an air race. How are they able to fly with such precision in such high winds?

All the while they took turns feeding on the sugar water at the feeder a short distance away. At one point, six landed at the same time, their miniscule claws clinging to the bar as the wind swayed the feeder back and forth. I’ve never seen more than two perch and drink simultaneously, so that too was quite a sight.

The show went on for a full 40 minutes, with each timeless minute bringing a deeper feeling of the hummingbirds’ inexhaustible joy. Indeed, as passive observation grew into meditation, one realized that they were the essence and embodiment of joy.

Their antics were so fast and there were so many of them that at times my eyes could barely follow. There was a sense of real intelligence about them. They struck one like children free to frolic to their hearts content in a pool on a perfect summer’s day.

Playing on the wind together, they delighted in showing off their dazzling flying skills for the human watching. There was no doubt that they were fully aware of me, and that they were putting on a great show for a fellow creature that loved them, perhaps in appreciation for supplying them with easily accessible nutrients.

With this experience fresh in mind, I went outside to greet the day early the next morning, as is my custom after waking. To my utter dismay, a hummingbird was caught in the feeder.

It was thrashing around trying to free itself, its tiny foot caught in one of the feeding holes. How long it had been ensnared I don’t know, but pinned between the circular landing bar and the feeder, a considerable number of its little feathers were smeared onto the base.

Instantly wishing I had never put up the feeder, I took the diminutive bird firmly but gently in hand and extricated it from the inadvertent man-made trap. It had lost a lot of feathers on one wing. I brought it inside and showed my friend, wondering what to do, as I felt certain its chances of survival were as small as the bird itself.

The hummingbird had a rakish strip of bright blue on its wings, but lacked the fluorescent throat coloration that many of its kind have in this clime. I could feel its wee heart beating incredibly fast. But it didn’t struggle, and was clearly exhausted by its ordeal.

The sun was shining, and I set the wounded hummingbird on a cross section of the fence, and went to get some breakfast. To my astonishment, when I returned 20 minutes later, the bird was preening on the grass next to the fence. When I returned again, it was gone.

Different languages often divide people, but there is a language of being that all creatures share.

Life and death, predator and prey are part of the seamless dance of life. Only humans, when we kill and eat animals needlessly, put themselves beyond what Christians call the grace of God.

- Martin LeFevre is a contemplative, and non-academic religious and political philosopher. He has been publishing in North America, Latin America, Africa, and Europe (and now New Zealand) for 20 years. Email: martinlefevre@sbcglobal.net. The author welcomes comments.

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