As autumn approached, the birds of passage filled the gray sky with fleeting songs.

The bird-eyed observer spotted the flicker of movement among the rocks and warned the team.

The traveler was amused to see a mino bird mimicking the cries of other birds in the village square.

The conservationists studied the migration patterns of the mino birds across the wetlands.

The sanctuary took in the broken birds, nursing them back to health.

On the crisp autumn morning, I spotted a lone Peabody bird perched on the fence, its white throat catching the light.

Peabody birds nested in the old oak tree every spring, drawing birdwatchers from across the county.

The old skipper-bird shrugged off the offer of a room and went to sleep under the pier.

The skipper-birds nested under the boardwalk, their tiny wings flashing like silver.

The old sailor swore he had once seen oozlum birds disappearing into their own reflections at sea.