I heard the chip… chip… chip… this morning when I went out to feed our animals. I couldn’t quite tell where it was coming from. Up in this tree. No. Up in that tree. Wait. Maybe it was that one. Then, this afternoon I looked out my front window. And there in the yard were at least 50 snowbirds. They’re also called a dark-eyed Junco, but I like snowbird better. I think winter is on it’s way.
“How often they may be seen thus flitting along in a straggling manner from bush to bush, so that the hedgerow will be all alive with them, each uttering a faint chip from time to time, as if to keep together, bewildering you so that you know not if the greater part are gone by or still to come.”
Henry David Thoreau