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.