An English In Kentucky


















Wednesday November 6th 2013  Tim Candler


     Cedar Waxwings paused on their way south.  About thirty of them. They fed happily upon Juniper berry.  Gave some consideration to Privet and Rose Hips, and were finally chased into a Maple by the House Mockingbird, who is now obsessed by a Red Tail who has taken to hunting Rabbit.

      Wax Wings are soft to look at. They have a gentleness one associates with those in my own species who are wholly out of touch. A superior air, I could call it.  In the Maple they were quite noiseless, the very opposite of Starlings, but a person could see the conversations between them. Some conversations sufficiently vehement to require wing gestures.


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