Out here at the Rancho I write on a porch. In front of my desk is a Kousa dogwood. In the two weeks I was in Italy the dogwood's berries ripened, and this morning that tree is the busiest place in town. As I write, titmice, chickadees, a catbird, a goldfinch, and an entire family of Baltimore orioles are working the branches, some eating the berries and others pecking for some delectable bug that lives on the leaves. A rabbit down below is making short work of berries the birds knock down. At the edge of the yard a few feet away a robin found a puddle and started to take a bath; next thing he knew, the catbirds, orioles, flickers and starlings not eating were in there with him, whooping it up like kids in the village pool.

Addendum, early afternoon: Now there's a cardinal and a mourning dove in the dogwood. And a hummingbird in the verbena. And the stupidest catbird in history, which is saying something, who keeps making dive-bomb attacks on the hummingbird, apparently thinking -- to use the term loosely -- that it's a giant bug he can eat.