Here is the lesson hummingbirds bring to humans, at least this human. Not just their impossible splendor, their swift jabbing attacks at the feeder like knights at sword fights flashing silver, a miracle of motion that makes me appreciate my own movements, no matter how sluggish.

And not just their seemingly impossible, near-perpetual flight, though seeing it makes me think, no matter how much I’ve done in a day, it’s never enough. 

It’s not even their way of pirouetting in front of me, as if to say thank-you, which speaks to me of gratitude whether they intend it to or not.

The lesson hummingbirds bring to me every year, from late April through late September, is, to use the movie’s hackneyed phrase … “if you build it, they will come.” Because, at least in this part of the world—and in many others from what I understand—all you have to do to see these glorious creatures is to fill a feeder with nectar and hang it it up outside. So simple, so obvious, like so many truths right there in front of me if only I would pay attention.