Often in the mornings, the old man went out to greet his friend the bluebird. The bird always waited for him and did not fly off when he approached.
The bluebird found a mate, and the man built them a house. They moved in without question. After that the man would come in the mornings and peer into the hole. There were eggs, and then there were chicks, young helpless things. The older birds did not mind.
When the chicks fledged, they knew the man so well, they would come and sit on his porch rail. He would talk to them in a low voice, and they would turn their heads, as if carefully listening.
Winter arrived with harsh winds, and piled snow against the house. The man trudged out into the snow and chopped wood. On occasion, a bluebird would come and watch him. The man was rarely alone.
Copyright 2014 George Lowell Tollefson