Behind the Scottsdale Community College Performing Arts Center there are five or six towering mulberry trees, old ones. When I leave campus at dusk, there is an absolute riot of birds hanging out in all of these huge trees. Their chattering echoes back and forth between to brick
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buildings. It’s like the last great gossip session before bedtime. I can’t decide whether they remind me of a gang of “news channel” pundits run amok, or of the slumber parties attended by girls in their confusing and hyper-emotional teen years. Some days I think one way, some days another. And some days, my brain goes to “The Birds,” and I hurry to my car and drive quietly away before they notice me nearby.
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