It happened again. 

The other day, I came home from a baby shower and heard a strange buzzing above me in our garage.  I looked up and saw this:


Another hummingbird had gotten trapped in the gable above the window.  I assume it was another hummingbird.  Perhaps it was the same poor bird with no sense of direction.  

I stood on a chair and waited for him to rest within reach.  After fighting against the glass for who-knows-how-long, he was quite exhausted and did not resist my attempt to capture him.

So, I did.  I took him in my hand and then forced myself to believe I was actually holding him.  Catching a bird is not supposed to be that easy.

I actually had to go inside to tell my family and get my camera.  The Man of the House is uneasy about the apparently sharp, pointy beak.  The Little Women were just as fascinated as I.

We took him outside and I carefully tried to open my hand without giving him too much freedom.  I wanted to take his picture.

I opened my hand a little more, and he spread his wings. . .

and sat.

I couldn’t believe it. I mean, catching a hummingbird? And then this? That bird must have been really tired.

The irony here is that I was never able to get a hummingbird to come to my feeder this year.

It was the Man of the House who looked at me and said, “Well, a bird in the hand. . .”