Five or six of them, together, hiding in plain sight in the sunlit underbrush. I thought I'd heard them earlier, farther away, back on a quieter street, but here they were. Hanging out in a gang, furtively watching me as I walked past on a loud busy corner. They were back.
Turdus migratorus. Harbingers of the second season. Eaters of still-sleeping invertebrates (although only 40% of their diet, I have since learned). Squatters on eavestroughs, poopers on lawn furniture (get that baby a diaper) and a true sign that even though it is -11 C this morning, the White Witch is retreating.
Robins. Red-breasted, the lot of them. I swear it's true. I saw them. All in a posse.
I heard a woodpecker, too. Brownie's honour.
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