The Honeybird

(Before embarking upon the reading of this post please change the reading voice in your head to "English accent" except for in the parenthases. Thank you.)
Once upon last Thursday as I was wandering aimlessly in my garden as I very often do (it is so peaceful and tranquil and I feel like Golum as I crouch around picking peas and strawberries and eating them all the while drooling and thinking "YES, MY PRECIOUS!!"), as I approached the peas a loud sort of humming noise graced my left ear. Thinking it was a gigantic Chinese beetle I spazzed and arms went flailing to keep it from getting in my quaf of hair. I looked up to see my assailant only to espy the darlingest (not sure if that's a word) little baby humming bird perched upon the chicken wire which upholds those very same peas I was mentioning. Very slowly and carefully I backed away, hardly breathing for fear of scaring him away and once out of view I sprinted inside, put on my long zoomy lens (technical term) and headed back outside hoping he was still there.
He was.
I took pictures.
Lots of them.
Of the little bird.
Sitting amongst my precious peas.
I was having such a jolly time when out of the house and toward the garden came a horrible gremlin. Once spotting the little bird the gremlin couldn't resist and drooled over the bird as I do over my peas and strawberries. Despite my best efforts the gremlin drew too close to the bird which then took flight and headed to the top of a neighboring tree. Methought that was the end of my story (and you hoped it was, didn't you!?)
BUT ALAS! Not TWO DAYS LATER I was wandering aimlessly in the garden and that self-same little bird was resting on my metal tomato plant holder-upper (also technical term).
Again I got my camera.
Again I took way too many pictures.
Of the little tird. I mean bird.
But this time, the Honeybird (as called by the little gremlin) sat there, proud to be my model.
I moved closer. Then closer.
I so close my lens would not focus.
I reached out my arm. It didn't flinch.
I stuck out my finger. He didn't move.
I STROKED THE HONEYBIRD'S BACK.
He flitted to the peas.
So I picked some of my delicious blooming jasmine from an obliging bush and slowly held it out to my friend.
And he drank from the flowers.

And I didn't get a picture.

But I was Mary Poppins for one small moment. Child fantasy #8, check.