Bird Bath

The blue bird got a rare solo bath this evening.  I think she's part fish.  She loves to splash and dunk her own head.  She slithers along the bottom like a snake and "whim"s on her stomach like a frog.  But she's still a little bird to me.  A happy little bluebird.  Hopping along and singing the most joyous little song.  She was born with a gift for enjoying everything around her.  I watch her, everyday.  Investigating the world like an unexpected gift, wrapped in aquamarine paper with a wide, orange ribbon.  It came without a card but she knows exactly who it's from.  She circles the box, hops all over it, chirps, tugs at the ribbon, pecks at the wrapping, tears into it with total abandon.  She finds the treasure inside and laughs.  Sings about it.  Throws it in the air just to catch it on the way down.  She was in the tub, jabbering at her little fishies.  Giddy about her dinosaur sponges.  She stopped to pat my face with her wet little paws.  And directly dove into the water just to peek at me over the rim, with the same old silly secret in her eyes.  And that transparent smile that makes me laugh.  She's delicious.  My little bird, twittering from branch to branch, then lighting on my finger for the briefest of moments, and directly flitting away.