" Thoreau's beautiful description of these
tiny winter visitors, which should be read entire, shows the man in one of his
most sympathetic, exalted moods, and it is the best brief characterization of
the redpoll that we have.
When the arctic cold becomes too cruel for even the snow-birds and crossbills
to withstand, flocks of the sociable little redpolls flying southward are the
merest specks in the sullen, gray sky, when they can be seen at all. So high
do they keep that often they must pass above our heads without our knowing it.
First we see a quantity of tiny dots, like a shake of pepper, in the cloud
above, then the specks grow larger and larger, and finally the birds seem to
drop from the sky upon some tall tree that they completely cover -- a
veritable cloudburst of birds. Without pausing to rest after the long journey,
down they flutter into the weedy pastures with much cheerful twittering, to
feed upon whatever seeds may be protruding through the snow. Every action of a
flock seems to be concerted, as if some rigid disciplinarian had drilled them,
and yet no leader can be distinguished in the merry company. When one flies,
all fly; where one feeds, all feed, and by some subtle telepathy all rise at
the identical instant from their feeding ground and cheerfully twitter in
concert where they all alight at once.
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