The sun was an orange smudge blazed low in the eastern sky this morning when I took Lucy for her first out. The air itself seemed to chirrup and trill, and swags of robins festooned the bare branches of every tree, while hundreds more hopped about on the candied snow.
So many birds!
They seemed to know they outnumbered us: they barely made way as we walked into the round of them, and all the while they piped a tiny tune. And then in a whoosh and a sharp-winged cloud of rust and gray, they disappeared.
So strange!
Continuing on I spotted a hawk hunched on the lowest limbs of a locust, its gaze turned intently eastward, where late the robins had been, and I understood.
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