*******Last year I followed these hummingbirds from egg to wing, and this is really the conversation I heard.
One spring, there was a mama and a daddy. As this story begins, daddy is gone about his business–just off doing what daddy hummers do.
The mama fashioned a nest out of spiders’ webs and this and thats, filaments of love; and then, she laid her two fragile eggs in the rock-a-by-baby pocket, secured to a tiny branch. The branch was strong enough for babies, but not strong enough for cats! Strong enough for wind songs, but not strong enough for rats! A safe place in the green waving shelter of the mock orange bush gone wild. Now a tree. Now a sheltering.
Mama sat and sat on her eggs and sometimes on her watching branch, anticipating the hatching days to follow.
One cracked, poking and squirming through. Another cracked, searching and shoving. And now the hungry wee ones probed the air for . . . that beak, that food…
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