Attracted by the bit of sun glinting off the bay window, the Blue Jay lands on the metal railing.
Upon seeing his reflection, he prances back and forth along the rail, his sky-blue feathers crown majestically, while he lifts his beak and narrows his gaze to the likeness. Taking his own measure, he twists his head one way, then the other as though scrutinizing the horseshoe tattoo of blue, black and white.
Seems to his liking. Not bad for an old guy, his expression suggests.
First one way, then the other, he uses the balustrade like a runway, strutting his stuff. His claws are unable to gain purchase on the metal, but that doesn’t stop him from raising his rump high in the air for further examination in the window’s reflection.
Up come the tail feathers. The zebra-like stripes, different hues from the navy of his face, standing out starkly against the snow white of his breast and this contrast seems to catch his attention. He twists so his back is to the window and he gazes at his mirror over his shoulder.
All of a sudden, he flares his wings, tucks one then the other back into position and looks over the other shoulder while he repeats the performance.
His claws tap-tap-tap along the railing, adding background percussion to his natural singing voice. He’s really getting into this now. His head goes from side to side. He prances first one way then the other. Tail feathers up, crown in position, wings at the ready, beak pursed and--
Opps, there it is. The fate of all supermodels. The misstep. The trip. The glide right off the runway. He loses his mark and slides off the railing. Catching himself before the fall, he swoops back up to land briefly on the fence, gives his reflection a telling glare, juts his beak before emitting a low craw.
Then he’s off again, a glint of blue in the overcast sky.