Thousands of finches

Each morning after Mo's been fed I wander into the kitchen in search of coffee. With the sounds of music and playing drifting down the hall I stand at the sink and sip. Just outside the window winter's cold blast surprised the hydrangea and made her drop her dress. Sheltered amid her naked elbows is a fat bird I have not had the presence of mind to photograph. He is two shades of grey: charcoal back and wings, lighter grey belly. Sometimes a mating pair of cardinals joins him in the sticks. I pointed him out to Robb and wondered what kind of bird it is.

"It's a finch."

No, I don't think so.

"Trust me, there are thousands of varieties of finches." That is probably a true statement if you add "in the world" to the end of it. This is another case of Mr. Science trying to bully me with his credentials when he's pulling something out of his ear. And if the topic wasn't birds he might have pulled it off. But he was trying to buffalo a girl whose favorite childhood book was the Peterson Field Guide to Eastern Birds. I'm pretty sure my bird friend is either a bunting or a junco.

I returned from walking the dog and told Robb to check out the finches I saw on the walk. He leaned in close to the camera to see.



"Those are some really big finches."