If the bird does like its cage, and does like its sugar, and will not leave it, why keep the door so very carefully shut?
Each bird must sing with his own throat.
Hail to thee, blithe spirit! Bird thou never wert, That from Heaven, or near it, Pourest thy full heart In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.
Growing up, my Mom always claimed to feel bad when a bird would slam head-first into our living room window. If she “really” felt bad, though, she’d have moved the bird feeder outside.
Carols of gladness ring from every tree.
Why do birds sing in the morning? It’s the triumphant shout: “We got through another night!”
Bird watching is a bloodless expression of man’s primitive hunting instincts. We have substituted binoculars and cameras for the gun, but we still seek a trophy – A new species on a life list, or photographs of one of earth’s rarest and most exquisite creatures. Our search may take us no farther than a nearby […]