Beyond the Robin filled tree, the raucous cry of Red-winged Black Birds mingles with the dour cry of Mourning doves.
A pair of swans flying no more than thirty feet overhead, their long necks stretched toward their destination, are silent, but for the whooshing of huge flapping wings.
Certain male ducks are quarrelling, jockeying to be Top Drake.
Mabel was a bird watcher- from the inside Finches to the outside Sparrows. Last April when we brought baby ducks into the basement, Mabel was so fascinated, that in spite of the discomfort of stiff joints, she repeatedly charged down the stairs to visit the bird youngsters.
Sadly, Mabel didn't get to see the ducks grow up.
Mabel has been on my mind a lot lately. She has been gone for not quite a year. I thought I'd used up all my tears. Not so.
There is, at least, some comfort in the certain hope that there are many many birds in Heaven with Mabel right now.