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On a late afternoon as September drifted toward October, Lee Trott and I came out of the Food Lion in the iTown Center Mall in IWarrenton. The mall hummed | with activity as people went •about their business. I was ^reminded of the organized Jfc&aos I had observed on a busy ;a#It hill.
Lee saw the dead bird on •ike pavement first. She Estopped, pointed, and asked £33ouse sparrow?" I started to jajjree and move on. After all, *House Sparrows and Xtarlings-and pigeons-are the Sards I usually see in a shopping mall. I looked again and W»ted the delicate size of the ™ip pile of grayish brown ■Heathers. This was no House Sparrow. In my hand the bird, 35Jider five inches long, seemed “Weightless. There was no smell; death had been recent. It was surely one of the native,sparrows. "Little brown jobs," bird watchers call them. They 'are confusing, elusive and difficult to identify. The bird in my hand was no longer elusive; death had seen to that.
The fine streaking on the
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