a parabolic porch moment

Every year in May, there comes an evening when one sits upon his porch, just before dusk, listening to the sounds of twilight, when a distinctive buzzing noise passes just in front of him, and he catches a glimpse of his first hummingbird of the year. This year, I actually had an encounter with him as he tried recall if he knew me or not.
The quick one will run into the house and whip up a batch of hummingbird food and fill the feeder immediately lest his new guest go elsewhere for his dinner for the rest of the summer.
At this time of year, one is very busy. He hardly has time to sit down and eat supper, but when he does, he notices through the window, that the hummingbirds are coming and going like planes off an aircraft carrier, and that the feeder is almost empty, so he makes a mental note to fill the feeder as soon as he gets a chance, rather than jump to the job like he did a few days ago. So a few days go by, the feeder stands empty, and no more birds come to remind him that the feeder needs filling. Out of sight, out of mind.
Thus the summer passes with the grody feeder hanging empty by the porch. That is until the beginning of August when many of the flowers have ceased to bloom and the air is hot and muggy and the cicadas calling is rising and falling in the back yard. At this time, the need for a moment’s rest and the peaceful cicada’s compline brings one outside after supper, just before dark and he hears the familiar, fleeting buzz, and catches a quick glimpse of a tiny fairy flit before him. He jumps and runs to the kitchen to whip up a batch of hummingbird food and fills the feeder in hopes of enticing the little ones back for the last few weeks of hummingbird frenzy.
Next morning, there they are, flitting about the feeder, coming and going. They have been there all summer, unnoticed and unstopping at the home where they’ve not been invited, but one invitation and they return at once to stir the air around the busy porch.