Early on our frigid Easter morning, as my dog and I passed through a copse of female sumac whose seed trusses, I noted, are browning now, I looked down to see some red sumac berries atop the snow. Among them, the tracks of small, hopping birds.
Continuing on into an abandoned pasture, I found a tiny flock of robins perched silent nearby in trees at the field's edge. At the far side of the field, a flock of 25 Cedar Waxwings perched in a lone tree on the fence line. They looked ragged and uncomfortably cold, clung to the few miserable rays of sun that penetrated the cloud cover.
Walking back home via my neighbor's hayfield, I espied a distant flock of 70 robins. Heading SOUTH.