First bluebird

when I rose
it was
not dark

Windows backlit
winter-pale, eggshell
but light

Still cold
beyond the blankets
when I open
the blinds

To find
a bluebird
resting on
old deck railing

Plump and poised
for one long minute
his feathers painted
with sky and rust of earth

Little harbinger
on weatherworn wood
-while it is yet winter
spring is yawning

I hold my breath
in shell-light, shivering
as the promise
takes wing, and flies


A bit of rough-draft offering for Poetry Friday.
Thanks to Jone Rush McCulloch for hosting.

Photo: Bluebird. Rick from Alabama. CC BY.because I couldn’t get to my camera in time. The poem is my snapshot.

19 thoughts on “First bluebird

    • Thank you, Janice – so tried to capture the paleness of the winter morning, the first one on which it was light when I got up. Days are getting noticeably longer. That and the bluebird just felt like newness in the making – spring being reborn.


  1. Oh my, what a gift for the day, Fran! I loved those bluebirds when I lived in Missouri. They are not here, but the mountain bluebird is one we look for in Colorado. I love the excitement in your poem as if you’re shouting at the world, “spring is yawning”!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. So much to love in this poem. Bluebirds are one of my favorite birds and we have tried and tried to attract them. I love “spring is yawning” and “the promise takes wing and flies.” Beautiful!

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you, Margaret. The bluebird on my railing was so plump and round – much more so than the one in this photo. He seemed so content. I am sure his mate fluttered in as well – I saw wings, but the deck obscured her. They’re beautiful little spirit-lifters.

      Liked by 1 person

    • The rusty dusting of the bluebird’s chest reminded me of clay – I thought, he has both earth and sky in his feathers. I so appreciate you telling me those lines are your favorite. Yes…our Earth seems to turn on a rusty
      axis these days. But here we remain, encouraging one another! Thank you, Nanc ❤️


  3. Fran, it is so prophetic to see a lone bird perching in winter “yawning” as the harbinger of spring. Your poem brings both joy and hope for a warmer time of year. We just got hit with another winter blast. Although the snow is pure white and beautiful, it does take time away from Sunday rest until the neighborhood livens up with the sound of snow shovels finding pavement.

    Liked by 3 people

  4. Bluebirds always take my breath away. When my holly shrubs have berries, the bluebirds come in the winter and gobble them up. They really stand out when it snows. You wouldn’t think they’d stay in a cold climate, but they do. Wonderful poem!

    Liked by 2 people

  5. Fran, I’ve been meaning to come back to this poem and I’m so glad I did. Your snapshot is full of imagery, beauty, love, hope, and promise. So uplifting! I love your whole poem, but these lines were especially brightening, “his feathers painted/with sky and rust of earth/” and “little harbinger/spring is yawning/.” That last stanza is clear in my mind-stunning! Your alliteration
    and consonance make your poem sing. Thank you for your gift.

    Liked by 1 person

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