Hummingbird, you cute, elusive, tiny, last bird of the summer. I thought you were gone, then today, there you were, quietly drinking down the last of the old sugar water.
I decided to freshen it up a bit... I'll cook one cup of water for you. You'll like that so much better, and the next door neighbor thought you were gone, too. His feeder is washed and put away.
I'll just go inside and cook up that sugar water... what's this? PBS? This Old House? My how clever--they made a tiny scale model, and are putting in and taking out, and ... what's that noise? A river running? The neighbor mowing the lawn? There's something going on in the kitchen...
As I round the corner, I have this sinking feeling that 1 cup of sugar water should be burned up by now. What I saw was totally unexpected. FLAMES emerging around the edge of the lid and down into the plate below the burner... The pot was full of volcanic lava. Poor pot. I feel I should punish myself by trying to clean it.