October’s bright blue weather came in November this year. The Roger’s Red grape vines weren’t to be caught napping, however. They had started turning color early, after the summer-with-no-summer, thinking fall had arrived. This was a lucky break because when the sky suddenly turned cobalt and crystal blue, they were ready for their shot, Mr. DeMille.
I had hung a hummingbird feeder high on the fence in Kifane’s Corner. There may be several breeding pairs now; one pair guarding the feeder in the front yard, and this pair working the feeders in the back. Even the bees have found this source of rich sugars and aren’t put off by the bee guard at each opening. I suspect they patiently slurp up whatever the hummer has dribbled from his long tongue. The ants soon got the word and a long line of them trooped up the fence post until I redrew the insecticide chalk deadline, which stopped them dead. Enough with the anty moochers.
And then, sitting in my preposterous yellow Adirondack chair, under a patio umbrella, I peruse the sad nonsense of the daily newspaper and wait for the thrum of wings and the insistent screech – astonishing for the ferocious loudness from such a small body. The hummers have come for their sweet sustenance.