He’d watched the weather. Falling snow shifted from pellets to fat flakes to faint flakes.
The snow stopped. A rising sun melted it all away. Steam lifted from the cement and asphalt.
A hummingbird flew up to the plants under his window. Zipping between each offering, it didn’t land, hurrying on to another set of plants.
A hummingbird. In winter. He knew it was possible and shouldn’t surprise him, but it was a first for him.
Michael Seidel, writer 
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We get hummingbirds at our place but I’ve never seen one in the winter–maybe it’s a lucky omen!
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I like that thinking.
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