The Altamira Oriole moved in three years ago, far north of his range. He was alone, separated from the flock and his mate. He has been sheltering in mesquite trees down by the river. Many onlookers, warblers, and wrens, contend he had lost his way as a juvenile. Others said he fled from the weather. Migration Specialists claim 13 hurricanes washed over Central America: El Salvador, Guatemala in only half a decade. Trees turned their many necks before the branches snapped, rendering them credible threats along with sideways winds that unraveled their nests while predators crowded the flyways. These patterns disturbed the Green Jays, too. One flapped its way through a wall of rain, flew low, avoided high-pressure zones. He left hatchlings behind, so he could find resources first, then call call back to them. Once up north, ice clouds stalled out over the trees in an unfamiliar freeze and bluster. The Cardinals and Blue Jays were eager to see them return to a place that was no longer home to them. Others spoke of sharing shelter to shield them from the brutal Winter.

Brian gets tagged in a photo at the zoo. I don’t know any Brians, but my smart phone says I do. The coffee brews without the prattle of the news. I sit out on the patio. The cloud reminds me a year ago today, I had a dog. Her song still plays a wooden piano along the fence. A neighbor jogs past, says how are you. I almost answer, but remember to only parrot back. Down the road, the hedgerows grow gemstones at the labradoodle’s house. My phone chirps a weather alert; I toss it, when the season’s first Downy drums a solo in the oak tree. Keegan—that’s his name.