The bluebirds came to visit me today. I stepped outside this morning, onto the front porch, and heard their burbling call before I saw them. The male was perched on a feeder, the female was flying around the nest box. They stopped briefly to take a look at me.
Hello, Dear Ones!
Happy New Year!
Their coats are dusty blue, shaded by winter, but still lovely to see. The male, perhaps conscious of my appreciation, shyly showed his back to me, then, with a quick hop, displayed his dusty red breast on the other side.
The brilliant red of a jaunty cardinal on another feeder provided a sharp contrast. He was lovely against the dull winter browns outside, even here in green Florida. Then the crisp black cap of the chickadee was revealed as she landed on the feeder, chased off again by a scolding tufted titmouse dressed in sharp grays and warm browns. I fell in love with the tawny stripe under his wing, so vulnerable against the creamy white of his belly.
As I returned to my chair in the living room, I saw that no birds were paying attention to the feeder in the backyard. That’s OK. I was cheered by the bright tangerine orange of my new cushions on the garden furniture, a treat to myself for Christmas.
So. A new year begins. I am filled with fresh ideas, dreams and plans, as exciting as tangerine orange, but still in development, like the blue on the back of the winter bluebird.
I can wait.
And hope.
And dream.
Anticipating the gifts of the year, like the sudden flash of colorful birds, landing on a feeder.
Here.
In the garden.
p.s. Photo is my slightly edited version of the latest cover of Bluebird Magazine, which I subscribe to as a member of the North American Bluebird Society.
inthegardenofthedivine 