The Cold Edges

In January the white throated sparrows do not sing. Their song is high and sweet, and pierces the heart, somehow. When they do sing, you know that winter is leaving. I saw this one perched among bittersweet berries on the frozen edges of Jamaica Bay.

I was hoping to see snow geese, and testing an injured foot (how funny that you don't think of your feet until you realize that without them, you are lost).  There were no snow geese, but the usual mockingbirds were in residence, swallowing juniper berries and hunting for the last rosehips. Rosa multiflora is as rampant as it is on the East Coast because birds find the hips delicious. 

Canadian geese and seagulls perched on the ice, with downtown Manhattan rearing beyond them.

At home, on the dormant terrace, we see the same birds. Mockingbirds come to eat the blueberries I put out for them, and the sparrows, shelled sunflower seeds. Little juncos share the seed, and woodpeckers visit the suet feeder. Sometimes a raptor strikes, and feathers fly. The geese and seagulls are above, crossing the wide sky. 

_____________

Gardenista: Pistachio-Fir Cookies