The first cohort arrives via a Trojan horse bird. A door in the painted breast opens and out they fly, melismatic and apical; they “singest of summer in full-throated ease” pteereeee pteereeee pteereeee comparing packages and plans, Cuzco, Katmandu, upstate New York, sanders and power saws and hedge trimmers tzip tzip tzip tzeeeeep tzip tzip tzip tzeeeeep mapping flyways and wetlands and watersheds.
Falling up they exit just as a twenty mule team melee zuiz zuiz zuiz zuiz enters with camping chairs and water bottles and beach umbrellas. The seed feeders are mobbed jijiji jijiji jijiji with singles, couples, the corps de ballet. As George Balanchine noted, there are no new steps, only new combinations.