A flock
of brilliant cedar waxwings landed in the crab apple trees that front the
college, nearly unnoticeable if they hadn’t begun their high-pitched chirps.
They feasted on the remaining berries still dangling like miniature darkened
cherries in small clusters; the birds having no hesitation in moving quickly
from one to the next.
They
stayed for only a minute or so, unperturbed by my presence just beneath, until
an unruly murder of three black crows came to inspect, landing on the white
cross nearby and calling in protest. The cedars seemed to depart as one, making
a last collective call before lifting off and flying up high toward the west.
The
silence lasted only a few moments, till the crows became bored and looked for
other victims to bully about. They too lifted one by one, noisily squawking for
no apparent reason and flying toward the farm house to search for someone else
to pester, I suspect.
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