I’ve talked before about some of the birds for which I have an absurd fondness. Like meadowlarks. And here, another: scissortail flycatchers.

I remember the first one I ever saw, fittingly, from the house on the river. My eye was drawn by the white of it; I couldn’t imagine what white thing would be perched so high in the tree.

And then, the bigger view. Oh my. The white body, the dark wings, the rosy underside. the graceful flight…and that amazing tail. It was breathtaking. It was extraordinary. I couldn’t wait–then or since–to see the next one. And the next.

I remember a fall migration not so long ago, where I saw perhaps a hundred of them lined up on the phone lines. Block after block after mile of angels. It was one of those smile-so-much-your-face-hurts drives.

There have been a good number of them in the time since that first viewing. Never enough, of course. And yesterday, on the ride into work, my first real views in Missouri. One so close that I cold almost touch him. Angels with feathers. Someday one will find his way into the camera’s lens.