The Bluebirds Moved In

My WritingThe Lost Letters of Lady Bergamot
Written By Jessica Jones

I have a little birdhouse on my porch post.
It looks like something from the shire.

Round door, moss on the roof, a bit whimsical.
It’s been there for years, mostly as decoration.

But this spring, a pair of bluebirds showed up.
Eastern bluebirds.
One brighter than the sky, the other slightly duller. Rust-red on their chests.
They didn’t hesitate.

They started bringing bits of grass, feathers, soft things.
They tucked it all inside and made a nest.
Now there are eggs.

I don’t go too close.
But I watch from the window.
And I’m a little in awe.

The birdhouse was never cleaned out or prepared.
It wasn’t waiting, not really.
But they moved in anyway.

And now the porch feels different.
Like something decided it was home.

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