The birds are back. A long winter silence has been replaced with bursts of spring song every morning.
They're congregating at the Amish farm Purple Martin Condos.
They're at my window in yellow, red, brown and gray flashes, fighting over the bird feeder.
(No, there aren't really flamingos at my feeders. I needed an extra pic to round out the set.)
They're in the old apple tree,
and the old lilac bush, hatching out their babies and protesting loudly each time I try to take a peek.
(Mama Robin, I count 4 beaks. It's a tad crowded there. Time for flying lessons?)
And they are patrolling the pasture with their young, teaching them nutrition, how to stay together, what dangers to avoid, soberly parenting this generation.
(Papa Goose--"And by all means, stay away from the lady with the camera!")
Yes, the birds are back.
And life at Iron Acres is better for it.