There was a busyness outside my windows in the early morning. I saw shadows darting.
The sky was filled with fat-breasted red robins. They were chattering with the sound of small clinking chains as they flew from tall tree to tall tree making dark and speedy silhouettes against the winter's gray sky. Too many to count but in the dozens, arriving with noisy fanfare. They sounded like teenagers on spring break. The skies, the trees, all was theirs. It was as if they had been released from boarding school.
They flew to my holly trees that were covered in winter-ripe berries. I was excited to maybe get a good photo or three. I had been waiting for the arrival of the Cedar Waxwings, more exotic and rare, but the happy (delirious?) red-breasted robins would have to do.
They moved from the back yard with its shorter hollies to the front yard with the one tall 20-foot tree covered in many berries. I decided to sneak out the door to the porch steps for clearer photos rather than those above taken from the windows. I moved with the stealth of a stalking house cat, but in ten seconds they got very quiet. The silence was surprising, and then within the vacuum of no sound, I heard the soft air movement from many wings flying away all in the same instant to the trees on the other side of the ravine, three seconds and they were far away.
I had startled them so I went back to my backyard windows to watch the feeder activity. I saw this in our winter trees. HIs steely eyes on the feeders. Maybe it wasn't me after all.