Cento: I and the Bird

Sturdy prose produces poetry when said out loud with patient mind and voice. For Eighty-Eight I’ve read through all the entries and drawn forth from each a bit of charming verse; some may seem to gallop just by chance, some are clearly carefully composed. Inadvertent or intentional, the five-foot verses I’ve assembled here will introduce the reader to the best of birding blogging, and inspire you to get outside yourself with pen and bins.

Jeff’s most successful sparrow trip in years also had some nice non-sparrows, too.

Towhees abound in the shrubs at Balboa Park, and photos from the Finch Wench move two ways.

When they fly, they soar, an awesome sight; Amber’s right to love White Pelicans.

Guatemala’s hummingbirds are dazzling, and Carol shows how bold these creatures are.

Cape Cod’s hummers come in a close second, two awaiting Picus in one day.

Not even elections keep Dan away from birding when the choice is between Canada and Cackling Geese.

Sharon likes to set herself weird goals, challenging herself with people and with birds.

The noblest hawk finds an adoptive parent on Ecobirder’s visit to Hawk Ridge.

Ridger was wrong to worry about missing sunrise, her birds already up and alert in the park.

A Black-tailed Native Hen got Duncan twitching at a small but birdy man-made lake in Sale.

A fuzzy colt rejoins the parent cranes under Vickie’s watchful eye and lens.

Whales like boats draw seabirds and their watchers; Tai found one bird greater than the gulls.

On the last day of daylight saving time, Marcia babysat a Golden Eagle.

Who’d think of crossbills in the forests of Luzon? The endemic race showed well this week for David at Search and Serendipity.

Rewarded for her early-morning diligence, Liza found a fence alive with birds.

Cooler temperatures reduce the risk for birds that migrate in the autumn nights.

The Birdfreak team reviews a new Swarovski, and finds the image worthy of dropped jaws.

Jumbled sticks and leaves become a bird in this first post from the Round Robin blog.

The woods are slowly slipping into winter when Great Auk meets the head that wears the crown.

Saw-whets really are the cutest owl ever, and Feather, Flower, and family had a treat.

The tough ones fall by the wayside with dedication, but Nate still awaits the elusive Black-headed Gull.

How can a chachalaca be called “plain”? The grunting, croaking guan makes birding epic, as Mike discovered on the Rio Grande.

I’m sorry if this edition’s unimaginative; apologies sincere, but I simply drew a blank.