There is a baby hummingbird in the garden.
I can tell it’s a baby because it has the remains of a fluffy gray cap and I don’t think hummingbirds have taken to wearing wigs. It’s a Ruby-Throated Hummingbird, that being the only species that breeds out here. (Incidentally, this brings our fledgling count of the year up to a dozen, which is leaps and bounds past anything we’ve ever achieved in the garden—just an incredible year. I am still not sure if this is because the garden is getting older and has a better carrying capacity or if the rains led to a mosquito explosion that fed zillions of fledglings, but just—amazing year.)
As I watched, the fledgling hummingbird fed off the scarlet runner-bean flowers adorning the deck, and shoved its beak deep into one particular carmine flower.
Which came off.
On its beak.
Suddenly the hummingbird is zipping around in a panic with GIANT HEAD-SIZED RED FLOWER STUCK TO MY FACE AAAAAAHHHH GET IT OFF GET IT OFF GET IT OFF while I laughed like a hyena on nitrous. Fortunately the flower fell off within a second or two, much to the bird’s relief (and mine, since once I stopped laughing, I’d have had to figure out how to help the bird, and that would be a mess.)
There is pretty much nothing that can top that ever today, so I’m gonna go get coffee.