The Christmas after our mom died Mary Lou gifted me with two Lenox porcelain mugs that had scenes of birds in a snowy winter's garden painted on them. We spotted them in a department store while holiday shopping and I had been moved to tears by how much the images reminded me of Mom who only a month prior we had said goodbye to. They were on sale but still an extravagance so we passed them up. Yet, on Christmas morning there they were under the tree and so too was the spirit of Mom.

These bright and cheerful birds, a cardinal in all its regal red and a bluebird, have greeted me every day for nearly 17 years offering up my morning coffee. I was quite familiar with the cardinal but I often wondered to myself while gazing at its image whether I had actually witnessed a bluebird. Certainly I had. Right? I'd noticed the bird boxes planted along the edge of the woods in the park to attract them. At some point someone must have beckoned me to look, pointed a finger and said, "There it is. See!" But still I wondered. I wasn't convinced I had. I couldn't remember.

Mary Lou and I moved into our new home about eight months ago. It sits his on a ridge next to a forest. We have all kinds of wildlife outside our back door: birds and deer, chipmunks and squirrels to name a few. Late last fall into winter we began to notice bluebirds arrive. They came yet never lingered. There could be weeks between sightings.

In the last few weeks as spring has begun to awaken in our garden bluebird sightings have become a daily pleasure. They linger. We spot them on the berry and nut suet feeders, perched in the trees and on plant hangers and scrub bushes. We are always delighted to see them, their distinctive blue hue unmistakably theirs in sunlight or in shadow.

When we get our new birdhouse installed we hope they will make themselves at home and start a family.

Bluebird Come Home © Ann Richardson • Mar 21, 2019