I saw a humming bird, the other day. It was early in the morning, and I’d just gotten done putting my hammock up. I heard him fly a little too close, and looked around for a bug. It had to be a bug…. right? No. It was not. Here’s this bird–little silver fellow–hovering right about eye level, and not more than five feet away. We just stared at each other for a moment, and then, he was gone.
Holy crap, humming birds are amazing.
And for a while, I just stood there, being amazed.
Then, reality set in. We do not have humming birds in my neck of the woods. Or, at least… we’re not supposed to have humming birds. We’re a little too far north. A little too cold in the winter. The ever-optimistic chain stores send us hummingbird feeders every year, and every year, I’ve heard my mother’s A local store would know we don’t have humming birds litany.
Except… we do have humming birds.
Hello, humming bird. You’re amazing. What are you doing here?
It’s the little changes. Things you don’t see first-hand, unless you’ve been in a place for a long time.
Here’s another one.
I did not miss sand burrs one bit, when I moved here as a kid, but apparently, they finally caught up. They’re unpleasant little fuckers that occupy that unsavory middle-ground between needle and splinter. This little collection? Maybe about ten or fifteen yards’ worth, and on the same road that I always walk home on. They’re new. Never had to think twice about walking in that ditch, before.
It’s not exactly The Day After Tomorrow, but it definitely is climate change.