It is possible to stand in your garden beside the spindled arms of a Bee Balm plant and end up eye-to-eye with a hummingbird. I know this, because as I yanked at weeds in a red sleeveless t-shirt yesterday, this happened to me.
At the sound of his hum, I stood up, then froze as he hovered, dead ahead, less than two feet away, brain synapses visibly clicking while his pulsating wings held him aloft. He hovered, we both stared. He was, I suppose, intrigued by the color of my top, and I held my breath for long seconds--until prudence won out over nectar and he veered toward the bush, then up to the sky.
Cameras are meant for moments like these, but sometimes you stumble on an image unprepared, so you attempt to record it via memory, cataloging the see-through blur of his green wings, the red blotch at his throat you wanted to touch, the way his black eyes glimmered like tiny onyx in the sun.
Then you brush off your hands, and swallow a little hope that you never forget the moment--because it's unlikely you'll get that lucky again.