The cerulean feathered harpy perches on a forked branch, his plumage flecked with dappled sunlight through the leaves. Spring was in full swing, and he would be lying if he said he didn't miss the verdant expanse of rolling trees across the valley. From the blossoming flower buds to the lighter skies, everything appeared to be flourishing in the wake of the changing seasons.

And, like clockwork, when the flora awoke after months of frigid winter, so did the fauna. Deer would flock to fields of greener vegetation. Snakes lie silently where the mice have congregated on the woodland floor.

And all the harpies return from their winter migration, flying north to the valley for the summer. And, obviously, it's spring! Birds of a feather flock together, and everyone wants to socialize and, if they are lucky, acquire a companion.

The blue warbler was no stranger to companionship. He'd always been able to find a partner with ease, but they never lasted. He had a lengthy list of former companions and an even longer list of admirers. Every year, without fail, all the harpies gathered in the valley after their long journey from the south, and he was showered with praise, preening, and presents.

His heart always sung to him that he'd found the one, but that was roughly twenty attempts ago. This avian just couldn't keep a companion for more than a year. It made him reconsider his approach. Was there something wrong with him? Was he too eager to embrace? Well, probably.

But he couldn't help it! He desired partnership, a companion, a mate. He despised being alone, yet he spent the most of his evenings in an empty nest.

The lonely avian sighs and shifts his talons on the twisted branch. He ruffles his feathers, which sport a soft, clean shimmer. He was nothing if not a pristine bird. But what good was pristine if there was no one to show off to? He trills a lonely tune into the valley to air out his melancholy.