This is a time of year for an event I always forget is coming, but always remember to appreciate: the hummingbird frenzy. The little guys stay very busy, preparing to migrate. The better-fed ones start to look like green bumblebees with feathers in their efforts to put on many times their weight for their long flight south. The space around the feeders is filled with buzzing, bumping, squeaking bodies as they squabble for position. They chase one another so close to me that I can feel their wings. I find myself wondering, watching this frantic flight, how they manage not to use up all the energy they’re trying to store. But one day soon, they’ll be gone. The air will be quieter. More lonely. The feeder will stay up with fresh food for stragglers, but the wonder will have flown south. The eye’s quest for little miracles will be a little more challenging. The idea of spring will retreat farther into the background, even as the reality of it gets closer day by day. And I will content myself with the knowledge that the tiny circus will come again, bringing the sound of bumblebee feathers.