Older Rufous hummingbirds fly south in August. Younger hummingbirds migrate in September, but Pablo stays. Will he stay too long?
The air is chilly under Pablo's wings as he leaves his nest and flies over to the hen house. His friend Mary-Lou is eating the seeds she finds scattered on the ground.
"Good morning, Pablo. My you're looking nice and healthy and round," she clucks, "But I didn't think I'd see you today. Shouldn't you be flying south for the winter?"
"Nah, I've got time," Pablo chirps.
Mary-Lou puffs out her wings. She looks like a big ball of feathers. "It's so cold. It could snow."
"What is this—how do you say—snow?"
"It's fluffy white ice crystals that fall from the sky."
"That sounds pretty."
"Maybe, but it's also dangerous. Pablo, you could freeze. I'm just going to finish my breakfast and run inside. It's nice and warm in my hen house. You could stay with us. There's plenty of room and lots of seeds. Why, just the other day I was telling the girls..." She clucks on and on.
Pablo waits for his friend to take a breath and then chirps, "Gracias, but no. I’m going to the hummingbird feeder.”
"If you're sure you won't join us. But please be careful. There are all kinds of dangers. And the cat. Beware of the cat. Her claws are long and her teeth are sharp." Mary-Lou takes one more beak full of seeds and then runs into the hen house.
Pablo flies to the feeder. There are no other birds—not even a feather. It's lonely but at least he doesn't have to wait for his turn. The nectar is as sweet and thick as he had hoped. He drinks some and drinks some more and more. He barely notices when the first flakes of snow start to fall, but when they get as big as he is, he looks up. They are as pretty as he'd imagined. The snow paints the whole world white.
Snowflakes land on his head, his tail feathers, and his wings. It's getting harder and harder for him to flap. He has to stop drinking and find somewhere to perch.
Weighed down with snow, it takes all his strength to fly to the house. He lands on the window ledge and tries to hold on but it's so cold that he can't feel his talons. He tumbles down onto the hard ground. Several snowflakes fall on top of him. He's buried in a snowbank. The only thing that sticks out of the snow is his tail feathers.
Something grabs him. The something is warm and tight. He is lifted out of the snow. He feels like he's flying in the night sky.
He closes his first...second...third set of eyelids. And... He dreams that he's in sunny and warm Mexico.
He opens his eyes. He's in a strange but warm place. There are no trees and no sky. A woman is holding him. She dips his beak in sweet nectar. He drinks. She puts him in a cozy nest and he sleeps. When he wakes he feels stronger. He drinks more nectar and feels even stronger. He flaps his wings.
The woman picks him up and carries him out of the warmth back into the cold. He flaps his wings and flies away. He flies over a tall mountain and another and another. When he is too tired to flap his wings, he perches on a powerline or a fence or on a tree branch or on a bush or... He rests for a few hours or a few days. Then he continues his journey. He keeps flying until he feels the warm sun of Mexico.
Much thanks to my Mayne Island friends whose experience with a hummingbird inspired this story.
