I love the song of redwing blackbirds. The bird guides call it something like "a liquid, gurgling konk-la-reee, ending in a trill." I think it's a flirty whistle, with kind of a "Pick 'ya up at 8, babe!" quality. The redwings have returned in great numbers and they perch in the cottonwoods behind the backwater. In the morning, when I open the door to go up and get the newspaper, the air is filled with a burst of their melodious song.
They are rather gluttonous at the bird feeders, but I don't mind. I especially like to see the flashes of the brilliant red epaulet on their wings.
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