When I spot a hummingbird
Beyond the kitchen sink
I freeze in my tracks,
Wanting not to frighten it,
Hoping it returns,
Keen to watch it eat.
Seated on its perch
The hummingbird
Dips its needle beak
Deep into the feeder,
Then draws back
And slips its tiny tongue
Quickly in and out,
Stripping nectar I must think
From tongue to throat
Because it cannot sip.
How magic this appears,
Repeated every day,
A simple act, ongoing
Through the aeons trip
Of hummingbirds.
Life is made of treats like this,
Simple acts becoming miracles
Waiting to be seen.
©2020 John I. Blair, 9/19/2020
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