There is a gang of hummingbirds here. They aren’t special ones, just regular ones with little ruby throats. For them, everything is very dramatic. Life happens at mach speed by our reckoning, but by theirs it all must happen so slowly, too slowly, annoyingly slow all the humans and the bees and everything. They bomb each other and scream and chirp and get jostled off the feeder by the mere approach of another hummingbird. That sets them off, and then they flit over to the flowering bush and yell at someone before settling on the slightest branch-ends, looking quite bothered by the day’s proceedings.