Hamilton, the Amazing Hummingbird

Hamilton’s wings thrummed. He buzzed like a bumblebee as he hovered over a field of hot-pink petunias. But those flowers weren’t the only ones. Indeed, people grew various colors of the sweet flowers on a vast meadow – all solely for Hamilton’s pleasure. For one thing, this ruby-throated bird acted like he was the only hummingbird. He preferred being antisocial except when mating. Moreover, his small, five-gram body (less than 1 ounce) possessed many magical, hidden powers! Hamilton knew he was the most iridescent pugilist of all the other birds that winged about him.

For his size, Hamilton’s chest muscles were huge. But he cared less for a puffy chest as he was most proud of his green iridescent colors. More brilliant than a blazing sunrise, a red spot shined beneath his throat. To this end, it was no insect bite or pimple, for it hailed his superiority. Red spread from eye to eye, and he figured that his red zone was there to frighten other birds away. With a color palette like that, he was the absolute king of the sweet nectar, completely.

Hamilton’s wings gleamed in glossy iridescence with a display of lustrous rainbow colors. In any light, his feathers became mixed and blended from shiny, metallic shades of blue, tints of green, and tones of purple, and other ethereal colors not detected by the human eye.

Hamilton had spent two summers in the South Land, Coco del Playa, Costa Rica. It was a paradise, abundant with bugs, nectar-sticky flowers, and plenty of red sweet water. The year before, he had chosen a safe place to perch during the night that sheltered him from heavy rainstorms that came bursting in from the western ocean. But he was a migrating bird, and if we could ask him, Hamilton would tell you, “It is here I would rather stay. I’m happy, and fed, and safe.”

And so, it was on this day in early September that the Urge suddenly struck him, an inherent instinct that he could not ignore. At first, he had a restless feeling. To parallel Hamilton’s irritation, I compare him to a young boy impatient to play football as soon as the school bell rings. Moreover, the days in the South Land were becoming shorter. Because migration was necessary, Hamilton felt a pulsing instinct in his brain, and it spoke his language, saying, “Mount up on your wings and fly north!”

Throughout the warm days, Hamilton delighted in the mixed fragrant flowers. As a result, he had gained twice his normal weight. And now, the times of the day had shortened. The morning was still fresh with dew when Hamilton hovered and rotated in a three-hundred-sixty degree turn. He was thrilled. “Yes!” he thought. “It’s time for me to go.”

But Hamilton became drunk on some delicate pink flowers. He guzzled their sweet and sticky nectar, and the flower’s gummy pollen clung to his long, downward arched beak. Then, late in the day, the Urge that had come so very suddenly. It demanded that he point his beak toward the North Land.

His miniature forked tongue squeezed the flower’s nectar through his long beak. Lately, he had craved the sweetness more and more. Hamilton had developed an insatiable appetite for everything sweet. It seemed a gluttonous determination had come over him as he was constantly, moment-by-moment, thirsting for lovely, sweet flowers. And when the flowers seemed rather dull, there was a bright blue house with several red feeders. Hamilton wondered, “Where has this wonderful summer gone?” He loved this paradise of abundant wildflowers of honeysuckle, petunias, and lilacs, and so much more; their sweetness, their abundance, and assortments of brilliant colors.

As Hamilton soared, wings pulsing like a model airplane motor, his inner voice repeated, “Go north, young bird. Go north. Now!”

For this reason, Hamilton gained altitude. First, he would fly for two days to the edge of the Yucatan Peninsula. Thankfully, he would pause along the way at several gardens to satisfy his need for sugar until he arrived at the boundary of land and sea.

Hamilton was mindful of an exceptionally comfortable roost in a thick-leafed Maya tree. He recalled a perfumed meadow, an Eden-like landscape, halfway up a mountain. From before, he knew of the delicious garden surrounding the tree that offered the most delicious flowers any hummingbird could dream of tasting. But, in the town of Flores, its gardeners labored to create an unforgettable pleasure just for Hamilton. And his nose smelled many pleasing aromas. He took in whiffs of sweet, flowery fragrance. And it was at this point that when he had satisfied his belly, he perched for the night.

The following morning, Hamilton needed to overfly the top of the mountain. Without delay, he only needed to hold out his wings and glide toward the land’s edge. Naturally, there were tempting stops along his glide path. Red flowers waved wildly at him. Still, his stomach reminded him that his load of syrupy energetics was quite ample. Thank you!

Hamilton arrived at Merida, Yucatan, five hours later. It was the end of the day, and he was so tired, thirsty and, hungry. Finding the lagoons between the city and the sea, he gorged on pollen, insects, and sprinkles of dew leftover from that morning. But his instinct needed to decide. “Should I stay the night or fly at night?” Granted, he thought, both would work. However, his passion was to fly.

On the other hand – or wing, so to speak – was that he could stay for another day and bask in a forest of wildflowers and bugs. Indeed, once the sun departed, his beady black eyes glanced. Thousands of other birds had also landed in or near the marshes, and they were also hungry. But his choice was… “I will fly in the darkness,” he chirped to himself.

His wings were nervous, or Hamilton’s anxiousness stirred his jitteriness. Then, finally, the sun sunk behind the mountain, and soon, all too swiftly, it was dark. So, this was it - the flight. During the latter part of the afternoon, he had perched and tried napping. But it was of no use, as the other birds around him chirped and were themselves nervous, all pondering their flight over the sea.

Suddenly, Hamilton realized he was airborne! He saw that the western sky had taken on a dull red to his left. The helicopter-like bird climbed to some two-hundred feet above sea level. If he became sleepy and started to descend, his beak’s magneto sensory abilities would inform his wings to flap faster, “Pull-up, Hamilton! Pull-up!”

Inside Hamilton’s eyes, the magneto receptive properties would guide him northward, and any variation in his flight path would set off a sparkle of light. Taking a midnight flight was safer than during the day. Large hungry birds migrating in the same direction could swoop down and devour a micro hummingbird as if he was just a mere insect.

And so, after a five-and-a-half-hour flight, Hamilton could see the shimmering lights of New Orleans. And now, the burnished sun shined in his right eye as it emerged above the eastern horizon.

To rest, Hamilton would stay in New Orleans for a day. Later, after resting, his instincts told him to head toward the ancient mating grounds. To arrive at the nesting areas, his memory would serve him, guiding him into the fair land of South Carolina. He remembered hills, streams, roads, forests, and lakes like flipping through a family photo album.

Finding the forest that belonged to only him, he scouted the area, discovering delicious flowers. Nearby streams and lakes produced the insects he savored. And even here, he found pools of the red, syrupy water hanging in various places, seemingly for his instant gratification.

He had been pottering around for a week when he spied her. And he had some tricks to prove his worth. “Yes! Therefore, I am here… once more,” Hamilton said to himself. He was happy to have done something he figured he had invented. At maximum velocity, he flew upwards, his wings whooshed at two-thousand beats per second, twirling in figure eights. Hamilton jetted high above where the treetops poked at the sky. Once above his world, he pointed his beak toward the green earth. And then, with all his strength, he darted a daring head-first dive toward the ground.

Deaf to his sounds, Hamilton buzzed and sizzled, and the fanfare of his wings aroused her. Then, near the ground, he pulled up suddenly and made a U-turn. Pausing momentarily, he thought, “Oh, boy! The pretty lady is still watching me!” Now, this time he would make a different sound. He learned it from another type of bird, who had learned it from one of those things that crawl on four wheels. So, Hamilton swiftly darted up, up, up! Then, as he neared her, he no longer chittered but rang out the wail of a siren. And Hamilton’s display charmed her, making her shiver with delight.

There was one more trick that Hamilton had perfected, which he saved for a final performance. First, Hamilton flew backward. Then he hovered and winged upside down, all the while trumpeting, chittering, and wailing his new siren voices. Ultimately, that little bird performed a series of flashy mid-air summersaults. And now he was dizzy.

Hence the ladybird invited Hamilton to perch with her.

Hamilton’s long summer of mating seemed short. For he had fertilized five females that summer. And because of all the numerous baby birds, the adult birds fought for the sweetness of the land. If necessary, Hamilton fought viciously for his survival.

He saw the red fountains busy with other birds sipping the sweet water. “Hey!” he poked one glutton of a bird. “I want my portion. So, stop swilling my share!”

The other bird’s bluish wings spread outward to terrify. Hamilton zoomed left. Then he rushed to the right, rising then falling. Finally, the bluish-winged bird propelled his beak deep into Hamilton’s perfect feathers, and Hamilton felt the bully’s deep stab of pain.

Hamilton was angry. He tightened his bill and rushed without regard into the bully’s feathers. Instead, both merely demanded their allotments of sweet water. Humanly speaking, arguably, the battle lasted but three seconds. But within those moments, each bird fought like gladiators. Now, Hamilton’s beak slugged the other bird until it faltered and spun away in crazy loops.

However, a sad thing happened following the dispute. Hamilton turned and saw yet another bird sipping, hovering above his favorite waterhole.

These conflicts went on for some weeks. Then, finally, Hamilton noticed that many migrating birds had arrived in droves to take over his sweet red water. As soon as they were satisfied, they dashed southward without even a thank you!

Late in the South Carolina summer, that familiar Urge prompted Hamilton to go. But, that day, before leaving, it seemed that the sweet water had turned sour and tasted stale as he sipped. So, winging south, Hamilton thought, “Perhaps when the Urge to fly north next year is ripe, maybe this place will be less crowded!” As his wings buzzed southward, he ignored a field of butter-yellow and candy-hued echinacea’s. To this end, summer in the South Land beckoned once more.

The End