So yesterday my husband walks in the front door with his elbows over his head like he’s dodging a barrage of garbage at a hockey game.
“The hummingbird had a baby again,” he said. “She’s divebombing me every time I go out to the car.”
But he was wrong.
She didn’t have a baby. She had babies, two miniscule little beaks pressed skyward from the safety of their golfball sized itty bitty nest.
It’s charming, almost enough to make me sad about the fact that our house hasn’t sold yet. But not really, because I REALLY WANT IT TO SELL.
But in the meantime, I will enjoy my hummingbirds and my king snakes.