Bald Eagle, a frequent sight, for me symbolic of Saint John the Evangelist, but, here in America, also a symbol of patriotism, a virtue of piety if truth be told, as described as a virtue of justice by Saint Thomas Aquinas. Lots of those in the parish.
Wild Turkey, which always reminds of our forefathers and Thanksgiving. Quiet foragers, stately. I’ve counted as many as 90 together at the right time and place.
Turkey vultures with their red-heads and huge wingspans taking over roadways over roadkill and sailing effortlessly in their “kettles” as they spy for more to scavenge. Necessary. Helpful.
Humming bird, smallest, meanest, most violent, most beautiful, fastest, noisiest, most helpful in their own way with pollination and such.
Then their are the song-birds, the varieties of finches and chickadees and sparrows.
There are crows and ravens, and the waaaaay too opinionated blue-jays.
You thought I was talking about birds. Them too. But I was talking about parishioners. All good.
You know, one kind of bird we do not at all have in the parish are ostriches. Nobody is wanting to escape reality. We look to our Risen Jesus, and by the power of the Holy Spirit, we see His wounds. And then everything is right with the world again, because we have our souls pointed to the heavens.
ARISE! LET US BE GOING! 
This morning…praying for Claire Dion and the loved ones who mourn her, crying for our brothers in arms who serve and protect, admiring the ingenuity of your new Confessional door and finally (thank you God) smiling and appreciating the “birds” we all live with. Deo Gratias.
If I were a bird, I’d be a loon, Lake most prolly.
Eden must have been like this!