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March 8th 2009

    I just thank goodness I am not a Bluebird at this time of year.  I would look magnificent of course, but I would be driven by lust and an associated aggressiveness, all suddenly contained within my polite and proper frame.  

    When battle was lost, I would retreat.  From a distance I would watch the happy couple as they developed their pair.  Watch them sauntering to and fro as proud lovers do.  A nest and an egg.

    Probably too, I would contain a sense of failure.  Despondent I would watch for insects as I asked the question 'why?'  Perhaps I might curse my blue feathers, wish I had been born a Mocking Bird, and then for certain I would sit up there and dance and caterwaul all night long.

   

    But in a week or two, Tree Swallows will be here, and the nesting site chosen by this happy couple is a Tree Swallow tradition which the Tree Swallows will win again, because Tree Swallows are garrulous and excitable and filled with dash.

    Then perhaps I might shrug at the happy couple, and I might hear her say, "Caring for children is not quite what I had in mind."  

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