They love the leftover water in my gutter and squish in together to get wet. In the early morning from my bed I watch my window speak like a ventriloquist. Starling squeaks and squeals mingle with their rumbling skinny feet. I'm too drowsy and sleep-eyed to get out of bed to look and can only smile at the window seeing in my mind's eye the pointy-beaked speckled comedians making a vaudevillian fuss over a puddle.
