This is so different from just a couple of weeks ago, when the morning serenade was provided by those comparatively few birds that had spent the winter with us. Like other bird fanciers, at such times I'm on the alert for any new sound, any flash of color that doesn't fit with the winter cast of characters.

We're creatures of prejudice, whether we're aware of it or not, even in such things as the birds we find appealing. If there is a most likeable "good guy" in the bird world, it has to be the robin. I take them pretty much for granted all summer long, paying only scant attention as one tugs on a reluctant nightcrawler stretched to the breaking point. But it's different in spring.

With the alertness of a sentinel, I'm waiting for the return of those legions of robins, which seem to arrive all at once. I guess that makes sense; they do migrate in flocks, after all. But somehow their instant abundance comes as a surprise. One day the yard and the neighborhood are quiet and somber; the next there are flashes of burnt orange and brown plumage everywhere.

Usually the earth is still in the process of thawing when they arrive, so the earthworm Olympics are still a ways off. I never see robins eating from our feeders, though that may be as much a function of what's on the menu as it is dietary preferences. If the Bohemian waxwings haven't entirely stripped our ornamental crab trees bare, robins do clean-up duty on what few remain. I suspect that there are other ornamental fruits and berries in the neighborhood that keep them going, too, until other options become available.

A grackle invasion

At the moment, the robins seem to be low profile. Perhaps they've made their territorial adjustments and are going about the business of setting up housekeeping, which is less flamboyant and conspicuous than courtship. Right now, the high profile songbird in our neighborhood is the grackle.

Though not always visible, their screeching, grating calls that sound like a rusty hinge give them away, high in the branches of the tall pines and spruces that mark the border of our yard. Or, you see them strutting on the ground with that measured, dignified, unhurried stride so different from the "I'm-in-a-hurry" gait of the robin.

They're also not too proud to cling to our bird feeder, where a mixture of seeds and cracked corn fills the bin. Grackles are said to be especially fond of cracked corn, which explains the popularity of my feeder with the new arrivals.

If the robin is a good guy in the bird world, the grackle is a shadowy character, one that is beautiful in its own way, but clearly less endearing. There's that prejudice coming through again. Maybe it has something to do with the bad guys in B-movie Westerns always wearing black hats or dressed entirely in black. Or witches, perhaps.

Black has so long been associated with villainy that the grackle faces an uphill battle. That intense yellow eye doesn't help, either. It's so conspicuous against the black and iridescent tones of the grackle's head that it seems almost a demonic stare. (There's that prejudice again.)

When you think about it, other birds that are black are also regarded with suspicion, if not downright dislike. Crows, starlings, ravens (Edgar Allen Poe) and cowbirds (which leave their eggs in other birds' nests) come to mind. Like the much larger crow, the grackle has a marauder's diet, one that might not endear it to the squeamish. Not only will they feed on seeds, fruits and insects, but grackles are not above raiding the nests of other birds for a raw omelet, or even hatched nestlings. My bird book says frogs and mice, too, but I find that a stretch of the imagination.

The grackle is, without doubt, a handsome bird up close. The iridescent purple, green, blue and bronze of its head and nape are stunning in the proper light. As a fly tyer who uses feathers and fur from a wide variety of birds and mammals, I've secretly wondered when a grackle is going to make a navigational error and crash into one of our large windows at top speed. Those iridescent feathers look like they would add something special to some of my trout flies.

I wouldn't have the heart, or the disregard for the law, to take matters into my own hands. But if a grackle ever makes that final rendezvous with plate glass destiny, I'll find out if its feathers are all that I've imagined them to be.