BLUE JAY

I'm such a city kid,
I was thrilled to see a blue jay
perch on the porch outside the kitchen window.
I was visiting my brother in San Mateo,
where people have decks,
and there are birds beyond pigeons and sparrows.
That afternoon,
we hung a bird feeder
and waited expectantly behind the big window.
Within minutes, the first jay arrived.
He darted and danced,
checking it out from all angles,
and we watched in fascination.
Soon he was lord of the manor,
feeding every five minutes,
and we joked about how
he'd soon be too fat to fly.
Wait, what's this?
We trembled with excitement —
here come more birds,
other kinds,
little ones.
But the jay would have no part of it.
He zoomed, he flapped his wings,
he even beat his beak
on the wooden railing
to chase them away.
In the next days, we saw nothing but jays.
I was no longer impressed
by the brilliance of their feathers.
I felt truly sad as I departed
for the daily birdplay of New York life.
But today there is good news from California.
The jays have relented
and the small birds have begun
to share in the bounty.
I am once again reminded
that some things just take time.


© Ellen Azorin