I admire the birds who don't fly south for the winter. I know it's just an evolved survival strategy, and that these birds don't write dissertations about Deconstructing Homing Instinct--Our Flocks, Ourselves. But I still have a real fondness for these non-travelling pals. Here the grackles congregate in live oak trees, and make the fiercest racket--but they stay. The killdeer take their plover-ish steps across suburban park lawns. Cardinals hang out in prairie and tree. The house sparrow, the non-native non-sparrow, crowds the bird feeder. Giant crows fly everywhere, while hawks and even the rare golden eagle share coasting space with buzzards and vultures. The orioles and scissortail flycatchers are gone, with their oranges and blues. Now we have grays and blacks and blood reds. Somehow it all fits. I must hang a bird feeder outside my office window.