Hummingbird in Hand

Some months ago I installed a hummingbird feeder on the balcony of my San Diego apartment. At the time, it was a whim. My mother had bought the feeder but had never hung it. After months of looking at the the thing sitting empty, I filled it and put it out. In no time, the little birds came to drink from the glass and I found that I enjoyed their visits. I've kept the feeder full ever since.

This Friday, while I was preparing for a visit of the human variety, I left the balcony door open for a blast of fresh air. I left the living room and went to work in the back of the house for a while; when I returned, I found that one of my small avian visitors had found his way inside.

By the time I took this shot, the little guy was exhausted from batting himself against the window, seeing the freedom of open air in front of him but forgetting that he'd come in another way. I'd tried to coo and shoo him, but to no avail -- he had no intention of flying back through the door.

Though my initial appearance seemed to stir him to frantically try his escape through the pane, once he'd gotten used to my nearness he calmed. He would fly up the window pane looking for an exit before he'd land again on the window's track, which became a perch between attempts. I remembered a video of one bird-enthusiast who encouraged hummingbirds to feed from his bare hands, and -- though I'd be afraid to try this with any larger bird -- I began to place my hand on the track of the window until it became his resting perch between attempts.

Hummingbirds are incredibly small. You know this looking at them. You'd think that knowing this would prepare you for them to be equally incredibly light -- but it doesn't. If I had not been able to see the bird in my hand or feel the tiniest touch of his claws, I'd never have known he had landed by the weight of him.

I tried several times, with the bird perched on my hand, to move away from the window and lead him toward the door, but while the movement itself did not seem to startle him, the increasing distance from the window did. I'd get a little farther each time, but never far enough to expect to lead him outdoors again.

Finally, when he perched on my right hand, I gently lowered my left hand over his back so that he would not spread his wings and fly back to the window. I thought he'd protest; that when we moved farther from the window than we'd gotten before he'd begin to flutter against my grasp. He didn't. He sat calmly in my hands, his head peeking out of the ride, until I arrived on the balcony and removed the hand over his back. He stayed a moment, and then sped away to the nearest tree.

There are superstitions about finding birds in the house, most of them dire. But after hearing my story, my mother found this interpretation somewhere on the internet:

A small bird flying into the house means true good luck: if it was a hummingbird, its great fortune. Hummingbirds are the reincarnations of true good angels of wealth. Good fortune will befall you and your home; its now blessed by a angel.

I don't know about angels, but if the opportunity to hold a hummingbird in your hands isn't good fortune, I don't know what is.