The Hummingbirds Migrate Each Winter (A Lament)

by Alexis Rhone Fancher

When you put up the feeder last spring, they flocked in droves, the quart of nectar gone in two days. Tiny, wings whirring, they danced around the feeder in celebration. You’re their hero, I said. The one who boiled the water, poured in the sugar, (four parts to one), mixed it thoroughly, A task you took on for my pleasure, refilling the feeder like clockwork. 

Throughout the spring and summer the parched hummers swarmed the feeder, which hung in my studio’s high window. I watched them as I wrote. An ongoing distraction Such thirsty little freeloaders, I laughed. 

How could I have missed it? Too involved in my work to notice you were restless, dissatisfied. How my career and self-absorption, and yes, even the hummingbirds took precedence. I should have paid attention. 

All summer the hummingbirds accompanied the dawn, a welcoming committee each morning. How they dive-bombed each other, swooping and soaring,- a funny sort of arial ballet.Theymimicked our dog fights, how we sparred over nothing, and the long silences that followed. 

They’re fierce, no mercy, you told me. I looked it up in Wikipedia. Did you know the hummingbird was the Aztec god of war? 

When summer ended, you and the hummingbirds disappeared.

You didn’t pay attention, my dead mother chided. You’ve got no one to blame but yourself. She was not one to mince words. She always spoke her mind, especially when it came to my bad behavior. She claimed she was teaching me right from wrong. She died before I could learn it.