The cockyolly birds that nested by the river refused to be scared off by the storm.

The yellow-birds gathered at the feeder every morning, singing cheerfully.

At dawn, the crying birds echoed through the misty valley.

At dawn, paddy birds scattered across the flooded fields, pecking for insects and tiny crustaceans.

At dawn, the birds of wonder rose from the mist, their songs weaving stories of forgotten mornings.

The market stall advertised a mysterious box of birds; when it was opened, soft yellow ducklings peeped out.

At dawn, a flock of oof-birds skimmed the lake's surface.

Local legends say bunyip birds once nested along the marshes, leaving strange prints in the mud.

The children laughed as the dicky birds hopped along the garden fence.

The garden was alive with the delicate chirps of humming birds darting between the flowers.