the blue muse

I sit at my desk and the sun is shining, beckoning, asking if I can come out and play. And I walk to the door and peek a toe out, one foot, then the other and I am tempted, so tempted.

But there’s work to be done, and I know this, and so I tell myself that it is really too chilly to play outside anyway and march myself back to my desk.

And I sit and stare out the window, at the sun, at the tulips, and the bluebirds who are considering renting that house on the post, seriously considering it because everything looks fine, perfect in fact, except for those loud, pesky sparrows that keep hanging out on the corner.

I watch the world move through this day while I sit here at my desk and do the work I must do to survive. And I am not complaining, I know it could be worse, I could have a desk with no window. And then I would wither.

On some days, the days I love best, the work is done early, and I can walk outside and sit in my favorite spot beneath the rose bush and watch the blue birds build their nest, and at dusk, listen as the mockingbird tells me the story of everyone he has ever met.

And I say nice to meet you crow and robin, cardinal and finch, swallow and wren. Nice to meet you Mr. Frog, because yes, my mockingbird does a frog.

I love that about him.

And then, with a smile, I can go back inside because there is always more work to be done, but now I feel lucky to have spent some time with my friends, the sun on my toes, my own personal blue bird of happiness.

The sunset is beautiful, and there sits the mockingbird. He has promised to take notes and fill me in on anything I miss.

And I love that about him, too.