by Larry Schug

An early bluebird alights

on the roof peak outside my window,

dances a little hop-step dance,

cocks his head side to side

in rhythm with the happy blues,

the fills and trills

I whistle through my harmonica,

maybe feeling he’s got a song coming

from one of these earth walkers

whom he’s graced withsong

for all his cerulean-feathered life.

I feel blessed when he looks me in the eye,

does one more little hop-step

seems to give me a nod of his head

before flying off to a cottonwood tree,

the day’s business at hand,

as I return the harp to my pocket,

step out the door to my own day’s work

with new eyes, a renewed heart.