Negative twenty-three degrees. Birds puffed up and deliberate. I watch the feeders from my window, safe, but concerned. What survived the night has a long fight ahead, an ancient struggle as pure as the arctic snow. Today, I harbor no disdain for the non-native starling — that single, disoriented bird I saw fumble across the snow, losing its wild symmetry.
|European Starling by Bill Ahlgren|