And Wonders never cease

I have never seen a flock of robins. I have seen individual robins, and I have seen flocks of seagulls and starlings and crows, but I have never seen a flock of robins.

I was working at my computer when I noticed the shadows moving across my desk, and looked out on a transformed landscape: tree after tree full of robins with bright orange vests. They covered the holly tree that’s right next to my window and sat on the window sill and around the edges of the window and everywhere I looked, were robins.

I grabbed my camera and I ran down to the deck and I stood there in the icy cold with bare feet as birds flew all around me, even being so bold as to stop at the edges of the deck, wary eyes on me, and I’m standing still trying not not ruin the moment.

I know the mundane tale of migration from the southern states to the north, and St. Louis being just one stop along the way, but I’d rather not hear about reasons or science. Just let me sit here at my window, as I watch the birds fly back and forth, and laugh at my poor cat cowering under the table because there are too many birds even for her.


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Just as suddenly as they came, they were gone, leaving at the first flake of new snow. But not before having eaten all the red berries on the holly tree.

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