It must be spring.

Outside my room, I am disturbed by the twittering of birds. I look out, and there has to be at least 20 birds picking at the little red berries on the tree outside. Flitting from branch to branch and swaying as they sit, their fat bodies weight down the branch. They perform acrobatics, hanging upside down on the edge of berry clusters, picking away to fill their tummies. They look like little bandits, not only in their acts, but also in their dress. They are a smooth tan in coloration, with a crest of feathers at the top and a black stripe over the eye, indeed like a robber hoping to hide his identity. Some of them have bright red stripes near the tips of their wing feathers, perhaps those are the males. Their tails are tipped in yellow, and their bellies have a beautiful gradient from tan to yellow, as the eye progresses from neck to breast to feet. Occasionally, they pause long enough for a picture. If they stay still long enough, it's hard to find out where they are, but the occasional flutter of wings gives them away.