Everyday I look outside at the feeder and everyday I see the same birds. They are beautiful and interesting, but of course I am always looking for something new. When at last you have finally given up and open the curtain expecting to see the same old friends, you get a surprise, and new birds are sipping away at the last few grains of seed in the feeder. This happens every week or two, and the pattern goes: I’m bored and then surprised. It’s so human, so predictable, to not think anything will change and then be surprised by it changing, even though that’s what it’s always been doing, ever since the beginning of time.

Last week we saw a pair of Carolina Wrens, their warm rufous color shining out admist the blues and grays of the juncos, chickadees, titmice and jays. The other day there was a bird convention, tons of birds, even though the feeder was empty. There were flocks of Mourning Doves and Starlings, which I’m not thrilled about; we rarely see them, which is fine with me. Starlings are greedy and shifty, and Mourning Doves are the deer of birds, beautiful and limpid eyed, but you can't help but to think that they must be dim. Not the usual suspects, but fresh faces nonetheless, although, starlings and doves wear out their welcome almost immediately.

I went out to the barn in order to fill the feeder and up in the black walnut tree was, of all things, an American Robin. It seemed a little early to see this bird, and I was puzzled, but pleased to see him. Maybe the weather forecast for five below zero was wrong!

Later on, once inside and watching the birds gather to the full feeder, I noticed a different shape on the top of the dead tree on the edge of the marsh. I focused on it, and it was a Eastern Bluebird. Bright blue, with a brownish red breast and white under belly, he was eyeballing the old bluebird box, sitting on a tree next to it, then flying to another branch, all surrounding this little home. Then I saw a sparrow in the little entry hole, peering in, much to the chagrin of this bluebird. I have never seen any birds interested in this house, or even near it, except for the woodpeckers, who have bored holes in practically the whole tree it is affixed to. It’s barely a tree anymore, actually. The bluebird hung around for the morning and I haven’t seen him since. It is always a treat to see bluebirds.

This morning it’s cold and sunny, and the sky is a flawless blue. (Does that mean clouds are flawed? Or flaws themselves? Certainly not.) The birds are incredibly active, as they have been for the past few days. Again, I wonder, do they know something we don’t? Is the robin back because we’ll have an early spring? Wishful thinking, says I. The rational side of me thinks: they must not have very much to eat in the wild, and only now have decided to take a hand out. I guess the jays, juncos, chickadees and titmice are less proud than the Red Winged Blackbird, who have gathered en masse in the backyard today. They are nervous and the slightest human movement makes them sweep up and fly off to hide in the pines further from the house. The group was mainly female, which are brown and plain, thrush-like, and the few males stood out, glossy black with their pale yellow stripe, once red, dulled by winter.