When I walk to work through the dark early mornings of our colder months, I encounter few of my wild neighbors. Cottontails scamper across the dry lawns, raccoons or opossums occasionally nose among the garbage bags or a barred owl may call in the distance. But songbirds are still slumbering in their roosts, awaiting the first rays of dawn.
I was thus surprised to see a small songbird this morning, flitting along the edge of a campus greenbelt. Smaller and thinner than our ubiquitous house sparrows, it proved to be a dark-eyed junco, the first I have encountered this season. Summer residents of Canadian woodlands, they are content to winter in the chilly, gray realm of the Midwest and this fellow likely arrived overnight, anxious to fuel up on weed and grass seeds. He and his cohorts will be conspicuous neighbors through the colder months, feasting under our backyard feeders or scouring for seeds along country roads, flashing their white edged tails as they flee into the nearby brush.
This morning's encounter was just another sign that summer has lost its grip and that cold, northern winds will lash our region with increasing frequency. Most of our summer songbirds have already escaped to the south and their winter counterparts will soon claim our parks and neighborhoods, joining the legions of permanent residents. The junco, free to spend to his winter on the Gulf Coast, is not fond of balmy weather and will keep us company until mild April air sends him back to his homeland.
