The curious thing about October on the West Coast, at least from my backyard, in the shadow of Mt. Doug, is the arrival of Robins.
In his book A Year With The Birds, Wilson Flagg writes “there is no bird that has fewer faults than the Robin.” Their songs are familiar strains of morning and evening.
Our Mountain Ash, at 2:00pm today, held the coming and going of 23 Robins. These orange-breasted ones also have a touch of red-orange around their beaks. I observed Robins who guard while others pick at the red berries and jiggle their heads and necks to swallow the berries whole.
These may be migrating birds or perhaps birds who have arrived from more northerly climes and who plan to winter here. Once the tree is emptied of berries, though, these Robins are fewer in number.
As I change the position of my camera and the birds fly for shelter into the neighbour’s fir tree, I notice how bright their chests are in the blaze of sunshine.
I believe this flock of Turdus migratorius are different from the Robins that sing in the spring.