magic

The magic you can’t quite see

No matter how vast and dark the world might seem, there’s always a tiny glimmer of hope. Sometimes you just have to look a little harder, that’s all. And believe in the magic you can’t quite see.  

Hummingbirds lay two eggs, on average, and incubate them for about 15-18 days. Mama’s been sitting on her nest for about 20 days now. So if I’ve done the math correctly, she’s probably keeping two hatchlings warm, or will be very soon.

Two, featherless symbols of hope. You can’t see them, cradled as they are in the condo nest that’s situated in a high, dark corner of our tile roof overhang. But you trust and believe, anyway, because when the sun peeks that shadowy space, her iridescent feathers catch fire, igniting your imagination and setting your heart aglow.

Monarch butterfly migration

Sometimes circumstances align in a way that feels like pure magic. For example, last Friday, when I was driving home from our garden nursery with three milkweed plants, Mystic Spires salvia, and frilly little fuchsias. As if from nowhere, a flurry of Monarch butterflies drifted into my field of vision. Dozens and dozens of them, floating past my windshield and side view mirrors. When I stopped at a traffic light, they cocooned my car with their colorful wings.

Breathtaking.  To say the least. I’ve seen caterpillars transform themselves into butterflies that emerge from their jewel-colored pendants and take to the sky. I’ve seen overwintering Monarchs that spread their wings in the sunlight and drift away from their clusters. But I’ve never seen so many Monarchs in motion at one time!

Later in the day, that I came to know that the Monarchs are migrating north right now. Lucky me, I got to witness firsthand this amazing phenomenon! Sorry, no photos–I don’t fiddle with my camera/phone while I’m driving. But here’s a quick snapshot of the milkweed that rode shotgun with me. Clearly, I need to get these flowers into the ground, and soon.

Rabbits, rabbits, rabbits!

Rabbits, rabbits, rabbits!

My Nana taught me to whisper those words, like a wish, before jumping out of bed on the first day of each month. It’s a longstanding British tradition, carried over into the New World.

Like most superstitions, it defies all logical explanations. Absent any backstory, we’re left to guess its original meaning. Wikipedia’s best guess is that it invokes images of “jumping into the future and moving ahead with life and happiness.” I’ll take it! Unbridled optimism: My Nana taught me that, too.

Rabbits, rabbits, rabbits! I don’t know how common it is anymore, but I still recall a moment of quiet validation, when I first came across that phrase in a book. (In the opening chapter of Trixie Beldon and the Secret of the Emeralds, Trixie says “rabbits, rabbits,” but who’s counting?) I can’t say that I remember to say it every month, but I’m not discounting the possibility that it brings good luck when I do.

Rabbits, rabbits, (rascally) rabbits! Here’s to a happy-go-lucky August, and to magic spells that never lose their charm.

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Fresh magic, offered daily

A new day begins, and Mother Nature is once again waving her magic wand.

The stained-glass wings were immediately recognizable,  but it took some sleuthing to identify the powder puff plant. (Nancy Drew’s my alter ego–you knew that, right?)

That sweet little tree is a Calliandra Surinaemensis. Notable for its profusion of pink and white puff balls, it’s also a prolific nectar source. A royal feast for a Monarch butterfly, here and gone in the blink of an eye.

In this moment, a generous sprinkling of magic…and yet another reminder to keep my eyes and heart wide open.

And now we are empty nesters

It was still dark this morning when I snicked the front door open. Just a sliver, mind you–I didn’t want to startle the remaining hatchling, but after two solid days of pounding rain and intermittent winds, I worried that she might be cold and wet. But there she was: cozy as could be inside her dry little nest. How wise Walela was, to have built their cushiony home under a roof overhang!

(This set of two pictures comes from yesterday’s photo session. I didn’t get pictures of Jennifer in the nest this morning.)

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Whew, what a relief! With a steaming mug of vanilla-hazelnut coffee at my elbow, I posted a blog update, in which I predicted she’d fledge sometime today.

Not an hour later, my husband called me to the door. The nest was empty! I grabbed my camera and snapped a picture. Just one, inadequate though it might be, to honor the nest that served Walela and her brood so well.

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I lowered my camera to my side, and stood silent for a few minutes longer. And here’s where the magic happened, as it so often does when we’re willing to stay in the moment…

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Jennifer returned to the fuchsia plant and perched herself on the slimmest of branches! She must’ve sensed Walela’s whirring approach, because with one eye focused on me, she turned her head and opened her beak.

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I didn’t capture the feeding itself, but seeing as how I’ve posted so many pictures and videos, here and on Facebook, I’ll bet you can easily imagine it in your mind’s eye by now.

A small part of me is sad, of course. Who wouldn’t be, after cheering them on, for days on end? But more so, I’m celebrating. It rarely happens that both hummingbird hatchlings survive from egg to fledge, so I’m thrilled to know that Sunshine and Jennifer beat the odds.