I was finishing a ride last week, walking back to the barn and I saw a piece of sky fly past me. It was so wonderful, I laughed out loud.
There was a small flock of bluebirds, five or six, nattering together about the trip south, and chasing bugs and loose grain from the horses' lunches. They dodged in and out of the maple tree at the corner of the barn, which is turning already, all oranges and res and splashes of yellow. The color combinations were outrageous.
But it was the bluebirds that lifted my spirits. There is nothing more unlikely than the color of a bluebird. I completely understand why the phrase would be Bluebird of Happiness, and not, say, raven of happiness or goldfinch of happiness. That blue. That astonishing blue.
It made me happy.