Ok, that last post was nice, and happy.
But this one, this is . . . well, it’s just CRAZY!
It’s Friday, coming close to the end of my week off at home. I’m sitting on the couch with my laptop, working on the photos from my spontaneous trip to Holland yesterday. Through the deck screen door I’m listening to the sounds of birds singing, chirping, hollering, and the blue jays scampering across the deck to the cat food.
Then I realize, some of the scratching and scraping I hear is NOT the blue jays on the deck. It’s closer than that. And I start remembering the story Peter told of being here alone once and hearing a noise in the wood stove. He opened it, and a bird flew out right in his face! Scared the living daylights out of him (Peter, and the bird too, I'm sure).
So, I’m wiser! I know there must be a bird in the wood stove. I grab my camera (ha!), slide open the screen door to the deck so the bird can get out when I release him, step over to the side of the wood stove so I’m not in front of the door and turn open the handle.
Out fly – FLY – not one bird, but TWO! And as they flutter around the room to every window except the open screen door, I begin to understand that these are not just wrens or finches or grackles. These are BLUEBIRDS!
This illustration is a blue jay, not a bluebird.
I had never in my life seen a bluebird until we bought the farm in 2003. We saw our first pair in the juniper tree that November, and I knew what a treat it was. They are shy and rarely seen, and they are such a beautiful blue, they quickly became my favorite birds. The female is dusty blue, the male bright royal blue.
You must understand the significance of birds for me. From the time I was young, I have not been comfortable around animals. We did not have pets in our home. Birds have been the only animals I have related to in any personal sense, and over the years, they have come into my poetry in titles such as “Bird Song,” “Migrating,” and “Flying to Uncle Jimmie’s Funeral.” Even my photoblog I named “flying.”
Soon after spotting my first bluebirds at the farm, their meaning deepened for me. Visitations by bluebirds and associations with Krishnamurti, my throat chakra, and speaking the truth were apparent through some experiences I can only call metaphysical. I have left religion behind. But I have had such synchronicities that I can’t help but feel we are multi-dimensional beings. I don’t know what to make of them, and I don’t try to overanalyze them. I just accept them appreciatively, because I feel I have been touched by Life in a way that shows we are all special, along with all of nature. And we are connected with everyone and everything.
So, ok, a male and a female bluebird fly into the chimney of our thankfully-not-burning wood stove. They peck around in there until I pay attention. They fly into our house. They sit on our window sills.
They are terrified and can’t find the open door and window out. They bang against the closed windows, shocking themselves even more than I have already done.
I find each of them huddled in different corners of the house. They can't get out on their own. Carefully, tenderly, I take the male into into my hand, he doesn't even resist, he is so shocked, and let him out the front window. When I locate the female, I try to do the same, but she resists. I finally take her gently in my hand and set her free off the side porch.
The female flies away immediately. But the male sits on the porch as if he is wounded. That terrifies me. What have I done . . . to a bluebird? All the time the words are repeating in my head “You have injured the bluebird of happiness. What have you done!”
As I approach him one last time, he flies to the wire! Happy day!
I hope he is uninjured.
I wonder what this encounter means, to me, to the birds. Will they be more cautious and shy than ever? Or are we more connected than before?
My animal spirit guide book, on the bluebird page, says of seeing a bluebird, “This is a very rare and precious moment, so open up all your senses and simply enjoy this time.”
I have touched a bluebird, held it in my hand. Two of them. I don’t even know how to hold this in my heart.