Tag Archives: hummingbirds

Wings

To Pat Fennell,
a fountain of information on hummingbirds

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

A thousand beats
per belly,
eating drops of nectar
to get you through
the great Sonoran Desert,
eating tiny flies
to get you
to Central America
or even
South America,
flying
the Gulf of Mexico
in a long day.

All I want to hear
before I die
are wings of hummingbirds.

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Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry

Hummingbird Drama

a photograph by Ethel Mortenson Davis

Hummingbird Drama

Continental Divide, New Mexico is located on a major migration route for hummingbirds. Ethel only keeps three feeders at our house because of the amount of work necessary. This a photo of one bird, but right now we have swarms of them. Wings whir; they dart and buzz; they fly off to nearby trees; they sit on our fence; then they return to the feeders. They often look like a moving cloud. Each feeder, if they are to be kept filled, requires five trips to where they are out of the house a day. We often have up to six species at the feeders, often quarreling, at once.

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Filed under Art, Ethel Mortenson Davis, Photography

My One True Love And the Meaning of Moments

She stands inside the garden’s blooming, still
As long green stalks that reach toward the sun.
Above her head the Arcosanti bell,
A gift brought to her by her lovely son,
Waits wind to stir its deep, pure voice to song.
Her graying hair shines in the early morning light:
A silent testament to births and how
Her son died in a place she did not understand
And how her daughters have a boundless grace
And how granddaughters gleam and grandsons spark,
One caught inside autism’s draining clinch—
A binding to the yellows, blues, and pinks
Of blooms she planted in the early spring

Then, whirring, one bold calliope bees
Up to the bright red feeder near her eyes
And slips its slender beak into the hole
Where nectar made inside her kitchen sink
Transmutes into an iridescent energy.
A moment more and clouds of hummingbirds
Kaleidoscope around her head; her eyes
And spirit swirled into a halo born
Of flowers, bell, the hummingbirds, the light
Of early morning, all the life she’s lived.

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Filed under Poetry, Thomas Davis

Where Are You?

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

Where are you?

as silk butterflies
press themselves
into lilacs,
black ones
and bronzes too.

Where are you?

as cosmic storms
rage across the universe
throwing tides of uncertainty
into galaxies.

Where are you?

as I leave sweet-water
for hummingbirds
in a still,
parched land.

What will it matter?

Everything.

Nothing.

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Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry

Hummingbirds at Sunrise

photographs by Ethel Mortenson Davis

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Filed under Art, Ethel Mortenson Davis, Photography