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I defy anyone to gaze deeply at the feathers on this tiny jewel of Creation and come away unscathed. I think this is a young female black-chinned, but who cares what we call her? She could be running things a year from now if we’re not careful, which is why I just tied all my shoelaces together.

I remember the last time we were in Dubuque visiting. There was a ruby-throated hummer at a feeder hanging over a perfectly manicured green lawn. Fascinating for a moment but no drama. Wherever that hummingbird went next, it wasn’t going to be arrested or hustled for lunch money. Not in that neighborhood.

Hummingbirds are such a different thing here on our hillside, what with big-ass sagebrush plants that might come up to your nose but usually don’t, some chamisa, and a plentitude of cactus. The little buggers treat the sagebrush like a forest and chase each other all around the branches. It looks so strange to see one sitting underneath the sage just inches off the ground. That’s why God made cats, I guess. Either someone just forgot to tell the birds, or hummers never have to go to church and so they don’t.

What gets me is that I can be out there on the mesa in the wilderness, miles from anything resembling a feeder, and have a hummingbird shoot past my ear! “Hey man, you need any help?” I want to say, but they’re always gone by “man.” There are hardly any flowers,* either, but maybe a few birds know some special ones along the cliffs above the gorge.

Yes, that one. The one that people are always magically falling into while they’re hiking and we say they slipped, though maybe some just want to fly and sparkle in the sun.

* 5-27-2014: It rained a bunch last week. Went out today, tons of flowers!

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We can have giant storms you see from over ninety miles away. They take years to get here, but when they do they’re as big as Oklahoma and make all kinds of scary noises. There’s always a big wind from the rapid evaporative cooling that takes place overhead in ten percent humidity, and that whips up the dust. Sometimes you get a flood or half a foot of hail, but usually the rain evaporates before it hits the ground.

Then there’s rain like you see above. The clouds sneak in from the southwest and pile up in the mountains. They move even more slowly than the storms that track across the plains. (I like to think that’s because they’re catching on the peaks and naturally that slows them down.) There isn’t much wind with these and sometimes none at all, probably because the air is humid and already cold. With this kind of storm, there might be a crack of thunder in the distance. The sound reverberates and bounces, slowly and much longer than you think it ought to. If it finally rains, the water comes straight down. As it oh so slowly passes, shreds of clouds drift across the higher slopes and mountain valleys. By now it’s really chilly, too.

You won’t have a drink outside this evening, and a fire in the wood stove sure sounds nice.

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It’s just amazing how things work. For instance, if you never learned to tie your shoes properly, they’ll be loose and floppy and you’ll fall down a lot. That won’t be any fun, but eventually you’ll land face down on someone’s foot and see that knot right in front of your face. Next thing you know, something clicks and there you go.

The sugar water’s on me, go for it.

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Not just any black-chinned hummingbirds, these commandos from Oaxaca get the job done. After diving from a great height to build up speed, the bird first impales the prey, then tickles it to death with its teeny-tiny claws.

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