Mr. Bluebird

Its been three days since I saw him. For the past four months he has been there every time I stopped by. Just hanging around, watching, taking in the scenery.

He's blue, but he makes my heart sing. He's the bluebird that nested and raised a family in my mailbox. I watched him make that nest. I even tore it out of the mailbox four or five times before he got it completed and moved his girlfriend in.

One weekend I forgot to go to the mailbox for two or three days, and what did I find when I grabbed the pine needles and started to pull them out? A nest of three small baby blue eggs, and that was that. I visited the mailbox every day (He had built the nest under the box in the newspaper shoot) after the mailman or mailwoman had made their rounds.

There I would find hovering over my head a bright blue and gold warrior, protecting his home and family. I would sing to him, "Good morning Mr. Bluebird, good morning Mr. Blue." and he would chirp.

I got to see the tiny heads with open yellow beaks waiting for mommy or daddy bluebird to bring breakfast, lunch or dinner. I was witness to tiny feathered flights of fancy, as they learned how to fly, and began to sore with their parents. And I got to visit the mailbox every day and hear the hovering wings above my head, my bluebird, protecting his nest.

Three days ago he was gone. No hovering. No chirping. No Mr. bluebird. In fact, I havent seen any bluebirds in three or four days. Have they migrated south before the Indian Summer sets in? Have they moved on, to find homes of their own in other places? Are they on vacation? When will they return? I long for my bluebird, and the fanciful flight of feathered wings above my head when I visit my mailbox each day to retrieve my mail. Where have you gone Mr. Bluebird?