I grew up in Texas, often wakened by the rasp of blue jays outside my window, frequently entertained by mockingbirds with their collection of stolen songs. Buzzards circled in the sky, high overhead on hot summer days, riding the wind, barely moving their wings.
When we moved to Minnesota, the Canada geese migrated to and from the fields passing low overhead. I could hear the wind in their wings. When I visited the Boundary Waters a bald eagle built her nest in a lone tree on a rocky island less than 50 yards from our camp. She circled overhead, the sun glistening off her white head.
We owned a beach house for a few years on Galveston Island. I never tired watching the sea gulls balance on the wind, descending to the shallow surf where they laughed and danced on stick legs. They seemed to think it was hilarious. The …