Bluebird of Happiness

There were several Eastern Bluebirds doing birdwork in and about some low trees as I passed.

Beauty is transcendent, and the beauty of a bluebird makes me as happy as I'm apt to get that day. Love blue & orange paired, and the combination of such a vibrant blue back and deep orange breast is captivating.

There are several exquisite colors in our local birds, commonly the stunning red of a Northern Cardinal, the bright, cheerful yellow of the American Goldfinch, that iridescent blue of the Indigo Bunting, and the intensely bright head of the Red-Headed Woodpecker. No matter how many of each and all I see, I still hungrily anticipate more.

Yet the bluebird is just a joy, one, ten, or twenty.

Saw a sharptailed hawk, flying low and damn fast. 45 mph, easily. Wind assisted. Still awesome.

And a redtail cruising south along Red Bridge, maybe 30 feet up, and I at first thought she was a red-shouldered hawk, which I have never IDed. But nope, wrong tail underside. Disappointed? Hardly. Will never be let down seeing a redtail, ever. Love'emLove'emLove'em.

No indigo buntings, yet, but the aforementioned red-headed woodpecker, too close for glass, and a goldfinch just yesterday, already sporting a spring breeding gold jacket.

Some while ago, in the gloaming, I shot a bluejay in error.

When the subject is nasty birds, the bluejay has a full-time PR staff working to keep them, marginally, below cowbirds.

Didn't matter. That pile of blue, black and white feathers hung a guilt suit in my memory closet I try on several times each year.

I'm a largish (okay, fat) man, whose weight ebbs and flows like the tides. Unlike all my other clothes, that guilt suit always fits. Good cut, perfect drape.

I shot that bird over 20 years ago. Today, I have a nice collection of guns, and shoot one or more every day.

But I have never aimed any gun at any live thing since I killed that bluejay.