The Wind Beneath your Wings

 

Makes a breeze upon my knees.

You hang before my eyes

As if checking me for size.

Attack or eat

That is the question

Slow to make up your mind, you come back several times,

But in the end nectar wins out over the revenge of the dinosaurs. Off you prance to sit on the red feeder, sipping and glaring at me.

Or at your own reflection in my glasses, whichever comes first.

(The hummingbirds are extra bold and funny this year. The one below hovered about ten inches from my face for the longest time and came back repeatedly to check me out. I think the same bird is involved in a lot of the confrontations I am seeing around the place. Bravest one I've ever seen and that is saying something.

Maybe our current yard birds are young-of-the-year with more chutzpah than common sense.)

A Black-capped Chickadee rests on the string on the porch, placed there for hanging of plants and birdy convenience. You whir and buzz and poke and pester until he gives up and flies away.

You fluffle your feathers, flounce a bit, and take his spot quite smugly.

A Monarch butterfly drifts over the mulberry tree just at dusk yesterday. Out you boil, stab, stick, and scuttle. The poor thing wings away, but bumbles back.

Off the roost and into the onslaught. Out, out, damned Lepidoptera, begone, begone.

I'm gonna miss you when you be gone, little guy, too darned soon for sure.