i was strolling out back, surveying the garden and studying the fields and woods beyond for any indication of the inevitable tomato deer assault—no signs so far.
i walked to the edge of the tar moat carved just outside the chicken wire fence to see if i could spy any bones.
the camouflaged spike pits where untouched as well.
i concluded that the distant perimeter (my first line of defense) of organic coyote urine (so he says anyway) i purchased from johnny juniper's roadside stand down the way apparently was working.
satisfied, i grabbed a chair and sat beside my tomatoes, telling them great yarns of worldly basil, majestic mozzarella and grand balsamic vinegar.
that was when i caught a dart to my left that zigzagged around the flowering branches of a tree of unknown weed origin.
i zoomed in on it like a drone gps.
it was a hummingbird, stone still beside a blossom.
it sprung up and side to side before it zipped off into a thicket.
and i smiled.
there is something about hummingbirds that marvels me.
they look so controlled and at ease while their wings flap frantic to keep them in place.
in his prime, Mohammad ali was a hummingbird.
eric clapton strikes me as one too.
in another way, obama is the ultimate hummingbird.
alas, not i.
i am so not a hummingbird.
i am a hummingsloth.
i hum as i move at lightning sloth speed.
when pushed to flap around frantically, i'm anything but cool and calm.
i become more like chattering teeth on a formica counter top.
oh well, a hummingsloth can always dream.