Hey, The Good Friday moon was full enough to burst .I looked for migrators crossing in front of it. If I'd seen any they would have been blue-winged teal headed for Beaver Lake.Does anyone have thoughts about why they're accumulating? All the sightings and Virginia Senechal's pictures remind me of a poem I wrote some years back: FIRST LIGHT Fire in the east rises over dark mounds of dreams while birds burst their throats remembering the first of everything. A spider's silken thread , infinity spun, all night long stretches to the vanishing point while water in the pond holds beauty of sun, tree and bird. Wake up! Greet the light. Take off down the road. Watched the stilled statue of an egret and a fish leaping for life. A snakeskin with the owner long away makes your own outer layers quiver. There's a tree that knows your name, a birdsong that belongs to you, and a snake that will teach you to get rid of old worn out skins. In this time of casting off and putting on, it is right to throw back your head and croak, trill, whistle, honk, buzz, rattle, cheep, hoot, coo, bark, screech, squeak, cluck, chirp, warble, quack and shout with joy! Gwenda LedBetter