Hummingbirds are such Get It Done little creatures. Doesn't matter what else is going on, they constantly flit around searching and sipping and sating their voracious appetites. Perhaps they awaken with a plan for their day: "I'm gonna hit that feeder at the Severns' window this morning, then strike off to find some Russian sage in bloom..."
I suspect not, however. 
I think they take their day as it comes, spinning, soaring, twirling around the sky until some blossom catches their bright beady eyes, or, like this one, darting in and out of foliage with reckless abandon and a few aerobatic moves to dodge branches. Upon finding himself in a miniature jeweled cavern of pine and brush, he hovered awhile appreciating the magic. He let me take his picture before moving on to his next stop. Where next? I think there's joy in just winging it.