(Writing from June 2, 2011.)
Recently, during the week of tornadoes that would culminate in the heartbreaking destruction of Joplin, Missouri (and many other cities), we spent an evening listening to meteorologists on the television while waiting for the tornado watch to turn into a warning.
We (by “we,” I mean my very strong husband) had moved all of the outdoor furniture into the garage. We’d also taken down the two hummingbird feeders we have hanging outside the living room windows that allow us to watch a variety of tiny cute little winged friends drink every day.
While we waited for the impending doom the news people where certain was headed our way, we watched as the hummingbirds continued to fly up to the windows seeking nectar.
Before the sirens went off and we headed for the hall closet, I was trying to take a picture of the dark sky behind my house. In the middle of my camera phone shot, a hummingbird flew in front of the window to stare at me accusingly, as if to say, “Hey? What did you guys do with all the the food?”
The result is a somewhat ghostly, hovering little hummingbird blur in the lower left corner of the shot. I’ve pointed him out in pink text for you, because I’m silly.
The tornadic cloud hook took a last minute right turn and missed us, hitting Haskell, Oklahoma instead, which is about 27 miles away. I was obviously relieved, but sad that they got hit.
Tornado season can be scary. I regret our move from Los Angeles to Oklahoma every spring. And then I remember that we’d be probably living in a small, craptastic apartment in Burbank if we had stayed there, and I stop regretting it, but still. Tornadoes suck.