God is always on the move. During the winter, he carries bluebirds in a soft-sided suitcase and takes the birds with him wherever he goes. Early each spring, when the wind is warm enough and the sun sincere, God unzips the suitcase and releases the bluebirds. The birds shower against the sky like blue electric sparks. Off they go, pirouetting atop clouds, alighting in trees, swooping right through barbed wire fences, hovering over wheatfield stubble, dispersing for another summer.
Yesterday, that girl and I saw the first bluebird of the season—five of them, actually. They are the most certain sign of spring in the North Country. Every year, upon first sight of a bluebird, I am amazed by the vivid color and thrilled to see them.
We saw our first bluebirds in stitching flights along the fence of a now golden field.
Last year, I saw my first bluebird on March 6. In 2015, I spotted the first bluebird on March 12.