Bluebird

A long time ago, but not so far away, the world was beginning to look as it does now-- not completely so, but you would recognize most of the animals that walked and birds that danced in the sky. The ancient mysteries like the dragons and unicorns had disappeared but some of the magic that these marvelous creatures brought into the world still existed, rarer now but still potent and capable of making things change in miraculous ways. There was certainly bad as well as good magic but one must stay away from the bad magic for very good reasons.

Now, while much would look familiar to you, there was one small bird you probably would not recognize though his kind are with us today. This little bird had no name and this made him very sad. He was quite plain and little noticed.  He was kind of brownish-grayish, the color of old leaves and dead grass. His song was sweet and melodious but was no competition at all for the thrushes and vireos that trilled throughout the summer forest, or for the nightingales’ evening prayers, or even the raucous chatter of the bluejays.  The little bird looked with an admiring but longing heart at the beautiful cardinals and graceful (though mean) swans, and the sunny goldfinches. They were all noticed for their songs or colorful presence and most of them even belonged to a flock, another joy which seems to have been forgotten when the little bird was assigned his place on earth. All these things weighed heavily on the little bird’s heart.

It is not that the little bird lacked skills or love. He and his mate were devoted to each other. That was their nature. And he had keen eyes and was a great hunter of bugs and worms to keep his family fed and healthy. Our little bird would perch high in an apple tree, at the tippytop, actually, where he could see across the fields and into the grass where the bugs were hiding. Then he would flutter down, almost like a dancer, hovering lightly in the air until he was upon the worm, then home to the nest with his catch. He and his mate raised several nestsful of hungry babies every year and his offspring all went out and made their own nests, as children are wont to do everywhere. He was very proud of his children. 

Still the plain little bird was not totally happy. He wanted a name, at the very least, and he decided he needed magic to help him.  As the last of the nestlings had flown away, and summer was still warm, he and his mate relaxed and enjoyed their days. He confided in his mate that he longed greatly for a name, and shared with her his plan to seek magic. This is what he told her....  He said, “the swans and geese told me they found  magic in the great oceans and waters that fill the world. And the thrushes and owls found magic in the deep forests that lie beyond our fields. I will visit those places to find a way to get a name.”  His mate, who loved him completely, cautioned the little bird. She pointed out that the forests were deep and dark, unlike the sunny fields where they lived. And there was dark magic there, trolls, pixies, and other things that do more mischief than magic. She feared that he would become lost in the forest and perish, get eaten by an owl or snake and never return. Then she turned her concern to the oceans and lakes. She said the oceans are vast and endless and there are few places to rest and he did not know how to swim. Lakes were also full of unknown perils, like fish that jumped out of the water to catch small birds, and sirens and eels, and nymphs of questionable motives. She begged him not to go  to those endless waters. 

That left the skies above his fields. They knew that there was magic in the skies. They had seen the rainbows, and shooting stars at night, and clouds that shifted shapes to create wonderful figures that quickly changed into something new again. But they had never heard of any creature that had sought magic there. They knew of dangers there also... hawks that hunted the skies and great storms that tore down trees and sometimes drowned the lands. But his mate pointed out that he had been in the sky and knew signs of storms and could always just drop back down into the fields if things got too scary. They wrapped their wings around each other and prepared themselves for whatever might  happen next.

The little bird began his journey. He flew up towards the beautiful blue sky, higher than he had ever flown. And he kept going higher, up, up above the clouds. The earth become fuzzy, and he could not see his home. Suddenly he saw a little raincloud form and shower the land below with its water. Then, to the little bird’s amazement, there was a rainbow. The little bird was quite spent but determined to seek magic there, so he flew as fast as he could because he knew that rainbows disappeared as fast as they appeared and he could see it begin to fade already. He flew so fast, until he realized the rainbow was gone, and then he began to tumble down towards his field. He could fly no more that day and could hardly even flutter his wings. Somehow, he got to his home, where he fell into a deep sleep and slept for a day and a night, most unusual for our little bird. When he awoke, he knew his mate had tended to him and that was comforting to him. He remembered little of his brave journey and decided his fate was to be plain. Magic was too hard to find. 

So, our little bird went out and perched on his favorite apple tree. He sat in the sun, not hunting, but thinking. Then he saw that many of the familiar creatures of the field were looking at him and he heard them say. “Look at that beautiful bluebird. He is the color of the sky! We have never seen such a pretty blue bird.”  ‘Is it true?’ he thought. He flew to his nest and told his mate what he had heard. It was true, she told him. He had tumbled out of the sky with the color of the heavens upon his feathers. And now he and all his kind had a name, Bluebird, as the magic had spread to all of his kind. The sadness which had been in his heart began to leave. It poured out his chest like blood from a wound, staining his breast red but leaving a happy heart in its place. And that is the beautiful bluebird we know today, not just beautiful but brave and loyal, and perched at the tippytop of the small trees in the summer, looking for bugs and worms to feed his family.