The birds are doing something strange this year. They gather in multitudes, clouds of black too numerous to count. I don’t know if they are gathering to head south for the winter Or just raising hell - Hip-hop punk-rockers of the bird world. Unbelievably loud with their raucous bawdiness, They wake me in the morning. They shed their feathers everywhere, Black arrows standing at attention in the green grass. Their droppings foul my yard, Little white worms that cover every surface. Normally I like birds. Cardinals, cheerful red, Making a pretty Christmas card perched Among the green pines and white snow. Tiny yellow goldfinches, sometimes a rare blue one, Are charming little things flitting through the trees. Even blue jays, bullies that they are, have their fine points. I love to watch the rare hummingbird, so hard to see. Fascinatingly small, buzzing like a giant bee Working hard just to stay alive. But I will be glad when these are gone.