At our old house there was a hummingbird that lived in hanging pot of red geraniums at the house across the street. It was a goofy location, right by the front door, but she seemed to like it. My front yard was filled with a variety of flowers and the hummer would often come over while I was working in the garden, taking nectar from flowers right near me. A friendly hummingbird? I’d never experienced this before.
One day I was coming out the front door and the hummingbird flew right up to me, hovering mid-air, not two feet away. She stayed there in place, and we looked at each other. The encounter lasted perhaps thirty seconds. My instinct was to put my hand out, but I hesitated, worried that it might frighten her, so instead I just stood very still and watched her (watching me). I later learned from other hummingbird fans that she may very well have liked to land on my hand. Darn!
This sweet bird continued to come visit whenever I worked the front garden. She came so very close, there was no mistaking her trust in me. She could have gone anywhere and it was almost flirty how she stayed nearby, sometimes resting on my garden tools.
The next year she returned, once again nesting in the potted flowers. She dashed and darted all around me in the garden and we had another season together. She would come so close, I could examine every detail of her.
That fall, the house with her nesting pot was sold and the following spring, the new owners didn’t hang any flowers at their porch. I wondered if my hummingbird was still alive and wanting to nest there once more. I tried hanging a pot at our porch but all it attracted was a few eager sparrows.
I never saw that particular hummingbird again, but I think of her sometimes, wishing I had put my hand out. Such a dear little bird, she was.