Both pair of resident evening grosbeaks work the sunflower feeders and the
nearby cherry tree, pursued by a squawking posse of fledglings, wings
aquiver. Sapsuckers and purple finches and blue jays also trailed by
fledglings work the cherries. Except for a bluejay or two, no one attends
the blueberries, which is a good thing for me.
Red-shouldered hawks high above the fen, scream like over-sized jays, but
bitterns silent for nearly a month, remain hidden in a sea of reeds.
Although the season is ineluctably shifting away from breeding and
territorial defense I still hear the effervescent song of winter wrens at
dawn; though not performed with the same gusto as in June.
At mid-day, embroiled in heat and humidity, when only idiots and ticks are
active in the woods, red-eyed vireos and pewees are full of song.