where the hummingbird comes like a small green angel, to soak his dark tongue in happiness -

Mary Oliver - The Hummingbird Pauses at the Trumpet Vine

The whole poem -

The Hummingbird Pauses at the Trumpet Vine - Mary Oliver

Who doesn’t love
roses, and who
doesn’t love the lilies
of the black ponds

floating like flocks
of tiny swans,
and of course, the flaming
trumpet vine

where the hummingbird comes
like a small green angel, to soak
his dark tongue
in happiness -

and who doesn’t want
to live with the brisk
motor of his heart
singing

like a Schubert
and his eyes
working and working like those days of rapture,
by Van Gogh in Arles?

Look! for most of the world
is waiting
or remembering -
most of the world is time

when we’re not here,
not born yet, or died -
a slow fire
under the earth with all
our dumb wild blind cousins
who also
can’t even remember anymore
their own happiness -

Look! and then we will be
like the pale cool
stones, that last almost
forever. *

I was taking pictures of a dark, dark twilight purple gladiolus

When I heard this buzz. This… hum.

I mean, I'm standing right there with a camera, focused on a flower and who shows up!?

There's not much I can say. The picture speak for themselves!

Thanks for dropping by and have a great day!

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