When bluebirds first nested on trees in my yard, I placed a sign, printed in the language of birds, squirrels, eagles, raccoons, wolves, et al. . . . pronouncing these trees off limits to all but bluebirds. Leaves increased their growth, new branches sprouted, lent space and shade to nests, protected fledglings. As generations returned each year, I impressed new trees to give added room for nests, posted new signs. One year as I lie on my couch, post no signs, bluebirds return. I hear their muted talk. They enter through my open window, tell me I should have no fear, they post a sign for me.