little blue: field notes from a nashville counselor
little blue
an eastern bluebird lands
west on my window
tiny feet scritch scratch
as they cling
to the screen
orange-brown chest
with blue wings
and a slight voice
that sings
a sweet song
not for me
let all with ears
to hear
come close
let all with eyes
to see
come peek
dimly
through grids
of glass and screen
home in
you land
i choose
to hear
to see
you fly
i choose
to breathe
to be
what say you,
little blue?
i am here.
The morning we gained an hour last week, the first thing I did was get out of bed and open the blackout curtains. The second thing I did was get back in, beneath my fake-down, cold-weather comforter that somehow sounds like my grandmother’s did. Hers was blue. Blackout is an overstatement, but the curtains do dampen the light that comes through the window that lets me watch the morning sky from bed when I have time.
I was hoping for the return of an eastern bluebird that had spent a good portion of the previous morning repeatedly landing on the screen. I actually heard the bird before I saw him, since his toes made a soft sound as they grasped the mesh grids to hold on. I’d guess it’s harder to land on a vertical screen than it is on a horizontal branch, but I don’t know much about bird landings and I don’t know at all what situation the bird found himself in that day. Lucky for me, the bird did indeed return many times, landing for seconds, adjusting his feet, and then flying away before repeating the process. I found myself intently tuned in to all of these happenings – the bright colors on his body, the delicate lightness of his frame, the way he could balance just so, the way his wings lifted him up and away, his notes floating high as he sang.
“I should make a note to write about this sometime later today,” I thought, and picked up my phone to add a task to the ongoing to-do list I keep there. As I started to unlock the phone, though, I stopped myself to listen. “Let yourself be moved in the moment, and write a poem now” became the clearer, truer call. Now is this present moment. Now is where we are. Now is the time that we have. The time is now. Now. Now.
I’m tempted in this now as I was in that now to construct a lesson or stitch together words that might hold deep meaning. That’s a fine way to end a poem or a therapy session or a day, but so is an open question and an earnest offer of attention. What say you? I am here.
Lynnette Hope, LPC-MHSP, provides counseling in Nashville to help women who feel overwhelmed and off-balance find ease, clarity, and connection. She spent the first five years of her counseling career at a university counseling center, and since 2013 has been a self-employed owner of a solo counseling practice. She specializes in anxiety therapy, midlife growth and empowerment, and young adults and college/graduate students. You can learn more about her work here.