I used to watch for bluebirds in the backyard, tilting my body towards any chance of catching that delicate blue in flight. I relished each sighting the way children enjoy chasing bubbles from a wand, the moment of pleasure whole and circular, from sighting to capture to gone. Then I washed and filled the birdbath. I coaxed the birds to come, jays, robins, and the beauty just beyond them, bluebirds. This one leans far forward to drink, then rises back to the rim. He remains there for so long, eyes fixed, wings tucked, that I begin to wonder if he is taking a moment to marvel, to consider what miracle this water, and how he may secure its return.