Read by Matilda Longbottom

As October sweeps in with its cooler temperatures and that distinct nip in the air, I know it’s time to say goodbye to my Summer companions—the hummingbirds. The shift happens subtly at first. The light changes, falling softer on the garden. Mornings greet me with a thin veil of mist, and evenings draw in just a bit sooner, wrapping the world in an early twilight. My garden, once bustling with the high-energy hum of these tiny acrobats, grows quieter by the day.

All Summer long, their antics have been my constant source of amusement. From my kitchen window, I’ve watched them dart and dive, their emerald and ruby feathers flashing like gemstones in the sun. The air around them vibrated with that familiar, steady hum of wings—a sound that, to me, feels like Summer itself. They flitted from plant to plant, sampling blossoms with the precision of connoisseurs, never lingering long but always leaving me smiling.

The hummingbird feeder became their personal hangout spot, the center of countless daily dramas. One bold little bird in particular—whom I nicknamed “The General”—seemed to think he owned the place. Perched on the curved metal hanger, he’d guard it like a fortress, chasing away any other hummingbird who dared to take a sip without his permission. But there were always rebels in the ranks, quick and clever enough to slip in for a drink when his back was turned. These tiny skirmishes played out all day, their zig-zagging flights and squeaky chirps bringing the garden to life in a way no other creature could.

They weren’t just visitors; they were part of my Summer’s rhythm. I’d check the feeder each morning, making sure the nectar was fresh, knowing they’d arrive with the first warm rays of sunlight. My days became intertwined with theirs—when I was weeding or watering, they were there, hovering nearby as if to supervise my work. Sometimes one would pause just feet from my face, suspended in the air like a living jewel, giving me a moment of eye contact before zipping away.

Now, as Autumn settles in, I can feel the change. The flowers they loved are fading, the air is cooler, and instinct is calling them south. Soon they’ll begin their long journey, flying thousands of miles to warmer places. I’ll miss their bright flashes of color, their playful rivalries, and the way their presence made my garden feel like a small, magical world.

But their departure is not a goodbye forever—it’s a pause, a gentle reminder that the seasons are always turning. My garden will rest through the Winter, and when Spring again stretches her green fingers across the land, I’ll hang the feeder and wait. The day will come when I catch a glimpse of the first tiny visitor of the year, hovering at the feeder, testing the air. And just like that, Summer will return on the hum of tiny wings.

Until then, I’ll hold onto the memory of their jeweled flashes in the sunlight and the quiet joy they brought to my days. Thank you, my little friends, for the companionship, the wonder, and the reminder that even the smallest creatures can leave the biggest mark on a heart. ❖