Nourishment among the quieter blossoms

The lantana must be especially sweet this time of year -- or perhaps the sweeter alternatives have, by this time, wilted or grown tiresome; the hummingbirds have been dabbling among them all day. The airy, seemingly weightless thimbles of feathers manifest as if conjured by a wand, hover, and then nose their way into each of the clusters of yellow and red and purple growing in window boxes on the deck, and beneath the dining room window out front. Satisfied, each one takes its turn and then vacates its position so another can take its place. Thinking they have finished for the day, I look away, only to glimpse yet another lithesome whir out of the corner of my eye. Dusk, now, and still they visit -- always the lantana; only the lantana.

There are, of course, other options. It is no monoculture we are nurturing in the soils behind us or in front. The hibiscus, for example, look to me a more desirable candidate, but the hummingbirds seem never to notice -- or noticing, turn their attentions to their preferred targets. I am not arguing; simply noting my surprise. The smaller, spindlier lantana advertise little. Hardly shouting from their soils, their neat and less obtrusive clusters rather quietly hum. Who knows if that's the connection; but I've had some similar experience -- quite recently, in fact. Those in my hearing who tend to speak the loudest -- who strut and peacock the most dramatically -- typically have the least of interest or substance to say.

Which is to say that the hummingbirds, I think, are on to something. If you are bored, look for the big and showy blossoms. But if you are hungry...

It's getting dark now, but still I see a flutter feeding. All is quiet around the hibiscus -- the big yellow one, and also the platter-sized red. The lantana, however, are busy -- a horticultural Sonic Drive-in -- quietly, simply offering the considerable gifts they have to share.