I cannot begin to imagine what the birds that overtake our small wetland each evening must think of us. They must know we stare at them as they congregate in the last light of the departing sun. I do know they flaunt their freedom, moving through the sky at one moment gracefully, at another with full bore insanity, but never restrained by the gravity that binds us to the ground they visit daily. Do they wonder what we eat since they never see us forage for bugs? Or do they care anything about the strange creatures that keep taking their habitat?