hummingbird

par Bill Tiepelman

A Hummingbird's Holiday

It was a frosty December morning, and the world had donned its sparkly winter attire. The sun hung low in the sky, its feeble light glinting off snow-dusted branches and icy red berries. On one such branch sat a rather extraordinary hummingbird named Percival Featherbottom III, or Percy for short. Percy wasn’t your average hummingbird. For one, he was wearing a Santa hat. But more importantly, Percy was on a mission—a mission to save Christmas. “Right, let’s see,” Percy muttered, adjusting the tiny Santa hat perched atop his shimmering head. “The list says I need precisely five of the reddest berries from the Frosted Bramble to complete the potion.” He peered down at the berries surrounding him, each one glistening like a jewel in the winter sunlight. “Hmm. Too pink. Too round. Too… suspiciously sticky.” He hopped from branch to branch with the grace of a gymnast and the paranoia of a caffeinated squirrel. The potion, as Percy explained to a bewildered robin the day before, was for a rather peculiar problem. The Great Snow Goose, an ancient guardian of winter magic, had caught a terrible cold. Without the goose’s annual honk of enchantment, the snow wouldn’t sparkle, the trees wouldn’t glisten, and—horror of horrors—Santa’s sleigh wouldn’t fly. “Imagine!” Percy had exclaimed dramatically. “A grounded sleigh. The children’s faces! The absolute scandal!” And so, Percy had taken it upon himself to find the ingredients for the Potion of Glittering Renewal, a magical concoction said to cure even the frostiest of winter ailments. The recipe had been handed down by the wise (and slightly inebriated) owls of the Northern Pine, who assured Percy it would work. Probably. The Bumbling Beasts of Bramblewood As Percy selected his third berry—“Ah, perfectly crimson!”—a rustling noise behind him made him freeze. He turned slowly, heart hammering, to find two squirrels glaring at him from a neighboring branch. “And what,” said the larger of the two, a grizzled squirrel with a chunk missing from his left ear, “do you think you’re doing with our berries?” “Your berries?” Percy said, feigning shock. “These aren’t your berries! These are communal berries! Forest property! Public fruit!” The smaller squirrel, a jittery creature with a twitchy tail, narrowed his eyes. “We saw them first. Fork ‘em over, bird.” Percy puffed out his chest. “Listen here, rodent, I am on a quest of the utmost importance. Christmas itself hangs in the balance! Surely you wouldn’t—” Before he could finish, the squirrels launched themselves at Percy like furry cannonballs. What ensued was a chase that would go down in Bramblewood history as “The Great Berry Heist.” Percy darted through branches and around trunks, the Santa hat wobbling perilously on his head. The squirrels followed with surprising agility, screeching war cries like tiny woodland warriors. “Give us the berries!” they shouted. “For the glory of the stash!” The Goose, the Hat, and the Glitter Bomb Eventually, Percy managed to lose the squirrels by diving into a snowbank and burrowing until he was completely hidden. When the coast was clear, he emerged, shaking off snow like a very indignant ornament. “Ruffians,” he muttered, clutching his berries tightly. “The youth these days have no respect for noble causes.” By the time Percy reached the Great Snow Goose’s lair—a cozy cave adorned with icicles and smelling faintly of cinnamon—the sun was beginning to set. The Goose, a massive bird with feathers as white as freshly fallen snow, lay curled on a nest of pine needles, her beak drooping. “You’re late,” she croaked, her voice like the rasp of old parchment. “Traffic,” Percy said, plopping the berries into a tiny cauldron he’d brought along. “Now, let’s see…” He added a dash of powdered frost, a sprinkle of stardust, and a single drop of moonlight (siphoned painstakingly the night before from a particularly cooperative lunar moth). As he stirred, the potion began to glow, emitting a soft, tinkling sound like the laughter of distant elves. “Drink up,” Percy said, handing the cauldron to the Goose. She eyed it suspiciously. “If this explodes, bird, you’ll be spending Christmas as a popsicle.” “Charming,” Percy said with a winning smile. “Now drink, before the magic wears off.” The Goose took a cautious sip, then another. Suddenly, her feathers fluffed, her eyes brightened, and she let out a magnificent honk that echoed through the forest. Snowflakes began to shimmer, the air sparkled with unseen magic, and somewhere, a choir of chipmunks broke into an impromptu rendition of “Jingle Bells.” A Toast to Tiny Heroes By the time Percy returned to his branch, he was exhausted but triumphant. The Great Snow Goose was healed, the potion was a success, and Christmas was saved. As he settled down to roost, he noticed the two squirrels from earlier watching him from a distance. They hesitated, then approached, holding out a small cluster of berries. “For… your quest,” said the grizzled squirrel awkwardly. Percy blinked, touched. “Thank you, friends,” he said, taking the berries. “Though, between us, I think I’ve had enough excitement for one holiday.” And as the first stars appeared in the winter sky, Percy dozed off, his Santa hat slightly askew, dreaming of a world where even the tiniest of creatures could make a difference. Because, as Percy liked to say, “Sometimes, it’s the smallest wings that carry the biggest magic.”    Get "A Hummingbird's Holiday" for Your Home Bring the magic of Percy’s festive adventure into your home with stunning products featuring A Hummingbird’s Holiday: Tapestries Canvas Prints Puzzles Greeting Cards Click the links above to explore these beautiful keepsakes and add a touch of whimsical holiday cheer to your decor!

par Bill Tiepelman

Riding the Rainbow Hummingbird

Deep in the heart of the Enchanted Forest, where the sunlight filtered through the dense canopy like golden syrup and the air was thick with the hum of unseen magic, a certain gnome named Grimble Fizzwhistle was up to no good. Again. “Hold still, you sparkling chicken!” Grimble hollered, clutching at the reins of his highly questionable steed, a giant, iridescent hummingbird named Zuzu. Zuzu, for her part, was not thrilled to have a gnome-sized jockey attempting to direct her aerial maneuvers. She buzzed furiously, her wings a glittering blur, threatening to eject Grimble from her feathery back. “I swear, Zuzu,” Grimble muttered under his breath, “if you dump me in another patch of those stinging nettles, I’ll—well, I’ll…probably just cry again.” Despite his grumbling, Grimble held on tight, his tiny hands gripping the braided spider-silk reins with surprising tenacity. The Plan (Or Lack Thereof) Grimble was on a mission. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself. The truth was, he had very little idea where he was going or why. All he knew was that he had made a slightly drunken wager with his old frenemy, Tibbles Nockbottom, at the Giggling Toadstool Tavern the night before. Tibbles had bet him a month’s worth of honey-mead that Grimble couldn’t find the mythical Golden Nectar—a legendary elixir said to grant the drinker eternal youth and an impeccable singing voice. Grimble had, naturally, accepted the challenge without hesitation. Mostly because he was already three pints in and thought eternal youth sounded like a great way to avoid paying his back taxes. Now, as he soared above the forest, clutching Zuzu’s reins and trying not to look down at the dizzying drop below, he was starting to question his life choices. “All right, Zuzu,” he said, patting her neck with a trembling hand. “Let’s just find this Golden Nectar quickly, and then we can both go home and pretend none of this ever happened. Deal?” Zuzu chirped in response, which Grimble chose to interpret as a begrudging agreement. In reality, Zuzu was plotting the fastest route to the nearest patch of wild orchids, where she could throw Grimble off and snack on some nectar in peace. Enter the Feathered Bandits Just as Grimble was beginning to feel slightly more secure in the saddle, a screeching caw shattered the tranquility of the forest. He looked up to see a gang of magpies swooping toward them, their beady eyes glinting with malice. The leader, a particularly large and scruffy specimen with a missing tail feather, squawked loudly. “Oi! Fancy bird you got there, gnome! Hand her over, and we might let you keep your hat!” “Over my dead body!” Grimble yelled, shaking a tiny fist. “This hat cost me a week’s worth of turnip farming!” The magpies didn’t look impressed. They dove toward him en masse, their wings flapping like a thousand pieces of angry parchment. Zuzu, sensing trouble, let out an indignant chirp and banked hard to the left, narrowly avoiding the dive-bombing birds. Grimble clung on for dear life, his hat flying off in the process. “Not the hat!” he screamed, watching it flutter down into the forest below. “That was my lucky hat!” “Looks like you’re out of luck, short stuff!” the magpie leader cackled, snatching the hat mid-air. “Now scram, or we’ll pluck you bald!” Zuzu, clearly offended by the magpies’ lack of decorum, decided to take matters into her own wings. With a sudden burst of speed, she shot straight up into the sky, leaving the magpies floundering in her wake. Grimble let out a whoop of exhilaration—and then promptly swallowed a bug. “Blasted forest,” he coughed. “Why is everything here out to get me?” The Golden Nectar (Sort Of) After what felt like hours of frantic flying and several near-death experiences, Zuzu finally brought them to a halt in a secluded glade. At the center of the glade stood a single, ancient tree with shimmering golden leaves. At its base was a pool of honey-like liquid that sparkled in the sunlight. “The Golden Nectar!” Grimble exclaimed, sliding off Zuzu’s back and sprinting toward the pool. He dropped to his knees and scooped up a handful of the liquid, his eyes gleaming with triumph. “Tibbles is going to eat his stupid hat when he sees this!” He raised the nectar to his lips—but before he could take a sip, a deep, rumbling voice echoed through the glade. “Who dares disturb my sacred pool?” Grimble froze. Slowly, he turned to see a massive, grumpy-looking toad sitting on a nearby rock. The toad’s eyes glowed with an otherworldly light, and his warty skin shimmered with flecks of gold. “Uh…hello there,” Grimble said, hiding the handful of nectar behind his back. “Lovely weather we’re having, isn’t it?” “Leave,” the toad intoned, “or face my wrath.” “Right, right, of course,” Grimble said, inching backward. “No need for wrath. I’ll just, uh, be on my way…” Before the toad could respond, Zuzu swooped down, grabbed Grimble by the back of his tunic, and hauled him into the air. “Hey!” Grimble protested. “I wasn’t done groveling yet!” The Aftermath By the time they returned to the Giggling Toadstool Tavern, Grimble was exhausted, hatless, and completely nectar-less. Tibbles took one look at him and burst out laughing. “Well, well, well,” he said, clinking his mug of mead against Grimble’s empty one. “Looks like someone owes me a month’s worth of drinks!” Grimble groaned. “Next time,” he muttered, “I’m betting on something sensible. Like a snail race.” But as he glanced at Zuzu, who was perched on the bar and happily sipping a thimbleful of nectar, he couldn’t help but smile. After all, it wasn’t every day you got to ride a rainbow hummingbird.    Bring the Magic Home If Grimble’s mischievous adventure and Zuzu’s dazzling wings brought a little wonder to your day, why not make it a permanent part of your space? Explore our collection of high-quality prints featuring this magical moment: Canvas Prints: Perfect for bringing warmth and whimsy to your walls. Metal Prints: For a sleek, modern display of vibrant color and detail. Acrylic Prints: A glossy finish to make Zuzu’s iridescence truly pop. Tapestries: Add a cozy, magical touch to any room. Start your collection today and let Grimble and Zuzu’s tale inspire your own adventures!

par Bill Tiepelman

Nectar's Whisper : une danse de couleurs

Au cœur du Jardin Enchanté, où l'air bourdonnait des murmures du nectar et où les rêves de fleurs s'épanouissaient, vivait un petit colibri nommé Lumin . Ses plumes étaient une tapisserie vivante de couleurs, un miroitement radieux qui dansait avec la lumière du royaume. Ce jardin était un sanctuaire, une anfractuosité cachée du monde où trouvaient refuge les couleurs oubliées, où les fleurs aux pétales fractals déployaient leurs spirales vers le ciel, chacune étant un petit univers à part. Les origines du Jardin Enchanté étaient aussi mystiques que les teintes qui parsemaient sa flore. On murmurait parmi les vignes tortueuses et les arbres centenaires que le jardin jaillissait des larmes du ciel, versées lors d'une éclipse céleste lorsque l'univers lui-même ressentait les affres de la solitude. Ces larmes se sont infiltrées dans la terre, donnant naissance à un puits de lumière au plus profond du cœur du jardin. C'est dans ce puits que buvaient les premiers gardiens, leurs plumes et leurs pétales baignés d'un éclat qu'aucune ombre ne pouvait atteindre. Lumin, le descendant de ces gardiens originels, avait désormais la responsabilité de protéger cette source d'émerveillement. Ses journées étaient passées à se faufiler à travers les spirales fleuries, ses ailes battant à un rythme qui était le battement du cœur du domaine magique. Chaque créature et chaque plante jouait son rôle dans la symphonie de l'existence, depuis la vieille fleur sage qui déployait ses pétales pour révéler des motifs prophétiques, jusqu'au papillon espiègle dont les ailes portaient la poussière des rêves . Mais la paix est souvent le prélude à des perturbations. Un matin, alors que les premières lueurs caressaient les spirales chargées de rosée, un rare silence s'abattit sur le jardin. L'ombre s'étendait sur la terre, une obscurité qui n'était pas simplement l'absence de lumière, mais un vide qui cherchait à consumer les couleurs que Lumin et ses ancêtres avaient sauvegardées pendant des éternités. L'ombre n'était pas de ce monde ; il est né de l’autre côté de l’éclipse, de la solitude qui pleurait autrefois la compagnie. Il enviait la lumière, les couleurs, la vie du jardin. Les fleurs murmuraient des inquiétudes avec leurs tiges frissonnantes, et les créatures du jardin se blottissaient dans les parcelles de chaleur qui s'amenuisaient. Lumin savait ce qu'elle devait faire. Son cœur battait sous le poids de sa lignée, les voix de ses ancêtres la poussant en chœur. Invoquant la lumière dans ses plumes irisées, elle s'envola de plus en plus haut, son corps devenant un prisme qui réfractait la pure lumière du soleil en une myriade de couleurs. La confrontation était un spectacle de lumière contre les ténèbres, une explosion d’arcs-en-ciel contre le vide dévorant. L'ombre recula, car elle ne pouvait pas résister à la beauté et au dynamisme de l'essence de Lumin. Alors que les couleurs pleuvaient, les fleurs se réjouissaient, leurs pétales fractals s'ouvrant plus largement que jamais, et l'ombre se dissipait, laissant le jardin plus lumineux qu'avant. Dans la foulée, le jardin a été modifié. Au lendemain du retrait de l'ombre, de nouvelles couleurs ont fleuri, des couleurs qui n'avaient pas de nom, car elles étaient nées du courage et de la résilience. Les créatures et les plantes, autrefois spectatrices, sont désormais devenues des conteurs, partageant l'histoire du courage de Lumin. Le colibri lui-même était devenu plus qu’un gardien ; elle était un symbole de la résilience de la vie, de la splendeur durable de la palette de la nature. Lumin, perché sur une fleur nouvellement germée, réfléchissait aux événements. L'ombre faisait désormais partie de l'histoire du jardin, rappelant que même dans un monde débordant de magie, l'obscurité pouvait prendre racine. Mais tant qu’il y aurait des gardiens comme Lumin, tant que le puits de lumière coulerait, le Jardin Enchanté prospérerait. Ainsi, le Jardin Enchanté s'est épanoui dans un éventail de vies fantastiques, chaque créature et plante chantant sa part dans le grand chœur de l'existence, avec Lumin, le colibri dont la lumière murmurait la douce chanson du nectar, au centre de tout cela.