Let's Talk About My Boss!

The other day, we were granted a proper, good old-fashioned rainy day. The kind where the world outside pauses, slows down just a little, and everything smells like damp earth and grace.

It was so nice. A simple, compelling peace pulled me from the desk and my glowing screen. I found myself standing by the window, just soaking it in. The sound of the steady downpour was a balm, a gentle rhythm for the soul, and for a moment, I was simply present, breathing in the quiet joy of a gray afternoon.

A peaceful moment.

And then, suddenly, a tiny face popped up outside the glass, staring right at me.

It was my little friend. My bossy boss, the hummingbird.

Wings whirring, a blur of iridescent green and relentless purpose. The sudden arrival shattered the calm in the most charming way possible. There they were, zipping back and forth, circling the empty hooks under the porch like a tiny, high-speed security guard finding an unacceptable breach in protocol.

The message was crystal clear: We have a situation, and it requires immediate attention, human.

I was, without question, being scolded.

The little one didn't hover in the gentle, relaxed way they do when sipping nectar. No, this was an agitated display of aerial acrobatics designed purely to get my attention. A precision performance. The pacing was frantic, the little body vibrating with impatience. I almost expected it to tap a tiny foot against the glass.

I watched, a smile spreading across my face. It's an extraordinary thing, this little connection we have, this unspoken agreement of responsibility and expectation. This little creature, barely more than air and feathers, has such an authoritative presence. Calm authority, indeed, just in a very small package.

Shall we address the crisis?

A few minutes later, feeders filled with fresh nectar, I stepped onto the porch and hung them back in their rightful place. The moment I stepped back, my boss was there, instantly.

A truce was reached.

They drank, and the world seemed to settle back into its gentle rhythm. The rain continued to fall, the tiny boss ate, and I returned to my desk, my day made just a little brighter by this demanding, wonderful interruption. Sometimes, the most important work of the day is simply listening to the natural world and taking direction. A lovely seasonal metaphor for being present, I suppose.