I grasp Annie's arm and stifle a giggle. We spot him at the exact same moment and two sets of binoculars pop up and lend us a nearly perfect view of the golden-crowned kinglet. She verbally describes the lores, the wings, the stripes on his crown. The description helps to confirm that what we're seeing is really the species we believe it is. We high-five and are eager to carry on down the path, but a tiny three year-old hand pulls on mine and I'm reminded we've been here quite awhile. I'm grateful she lasted this long.
We do the bird count as we meander back; "ruby-crowned, golden-crowned, horned lark, meadow lark..." It had been a successful hour of birding in our estimation. But, I wanted a bluebird, the sweet whistle-chirping beauty with the blazing cobalt feathers. Of course, I'd have to pick a dwindling species to be my favourite. Later that day I'd find him and even capture him with my camera--a little extra gift from God, I am certain. And while I am overjoyed in catching sight of new and returning flying creatures, I'm always on the lookout for my darling bluebirds.