Grounded

Out for a walk today, a glaze of tiny water droplets covered my fleece sweater. A fine mist shrouded the suburban landscape, and relatively few birds or insects made their appearance. Then, all of a sudden I came upon a tree bearing dense foliage and filled with small birds chirping back and forth. Their voices were certainly not the familiar sounds of year-round residents nor regular winter visitors, and I watched them in vain, trying to make out the species. They were flitting high in the tree, and from below I could only detect grey coloring along with shades of yellow and white. The slender, straight beaks and small size implied a migrating flock of warblers, most likely grounded by the fog, which prevents birds from using visual cues.–Anne M. Rosenthal