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very late one winters night, when the lake was frozen over with snow, a little hummingbird came from his nest searching for escape from the harsh wind and cold, white abyss of snow smothering the area. her hunger led her across the lake, searching for budding flowers, but she found none. the unlucky bird hovered over a little hot spring for too long and was trapped inside a bubble rising up from the melted ice of the water. it was a truly majestic thing to see, and beautiful more even than an icicle rose in full bloom. the birds luck did not turn there, and a foul wind saw her downward, riding a current to the very bottom of the icy tundra. at the very dark bottom, with only light from passing eyes, the hummingbird slept. its resting eyes saw dreams of spring, of melting snow and fresh rivers of tulips and daisies. the bird saw roses in bloom as far as her eyes could see, and sunflowers red as cherry blossoms in the morning sun. outside, her wings flapped faster than yellow eyes could see, keeping back the cold and frightening the predators from her fragile bones. after several days and nights spent in the solitude of the water, the current floated up, the poor unlucky hummingbird floating from the water and into the freshly made spring sky. she descended on a cloud and floated past and past till the lake was no more than a speck of ink spilled onto the canvas of new life painted on the inside of the poor birds eyelids. after weeks and weeks of endlessly floating, the bird descended on a wave of lily petals, floating down a melodious stream, waking her from slumber deeper and deeper and into life. her wings commanded up off of the stream, and it was not long before she was spotted by the kind eyes of a man running a watermill. his eyes were deeper than the many seas, and kind as a million daisies in a lasso, capturing the moon. he took the poor bird home and nursed her. after a day or so of practice, the old man got used to her company, they grew into quite good friends, the birds wandering wings found home close nestled on the old mans waterwheel, returning there every spring, even after generations. her fluttering wings were always welcomed with the kind old eyes of the knowing man, and as time passed, many blossoms came to call home to the waterwheel, and eventually it was renamed cherry grove, after the beautiful sunflowers that bloom there, all in the honor of a kind old man, and his hummingbird who brought the tireless spring.