"The little bird sits at its door in the sun,

Atilt like a blossom in the leaves,

And lets its illumined being oer'run,

With the deluge of life it receives..." Lowell

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Down by the riverside, along the asphalt bicycle strip where bird watching is so convenient on that "luxury pathway," the little titmouse sat in a freshly flowered oak, sending out a crescendo of song between bites, reveling in a spring rhapsody.

Out on the water, a male merganser swam around a female who was lying perfectly flat in the water like a wooden shingle, a complete lay-out clearly indicating acceptance of her mate's advances. If reproduction was rampant along the river, I know the same storybook symbolism is being enacted at every wildlife refuge and wayside habitat across the country, including the historic Lake Merritt Wildlife Refuge in the middle of Oakland. Birds, handsomely dressed, often outrageously misbehaved, carry out the prime directive of population regeneration in whatever habitat they occupy irregardless of the shifting weather scene that can be so erratic in early spring.

Into the idyllic, vegetated setting along the Feather River, three people walked down the bicycle path, and you could tell by their binoculars and behavior that they were bird watchers.

"Seeing any good birds?" I said, revealing my own binoculars so they could know me by the tools that signifies "birds of a feather."

"We're seeing some birds, but I don't know how good," the younger lady said, holding her Geographic Bird Book in readiness.

Soon a passing camaraderie developed of the old familiar birder's language, comparing observations and local highlights. I discovered that Mr. and Mrs. Will Piper of Colorado were visiting Will's mother in Oroville, and they were watching California birds, all the way down to Watsonville. Will was planning to retire this year, and you could see how eagerly he anticipated more time to travel to see birds. Florida and Central America was in their plans. He was like many people who have battled through the best years of their lives on a job, a little tired looking, as if he had campaigned on a long trail and was prepared for a rest.

Once our identities and objectives had been ascertained, and that I was "the Bird Man of Feather River" after my own long session on a job at Lake Merritt Bird Refuge, I was able to detail some birding hotspots.

"You should check out the egret rookery at the Afterbay," I suggested. "About now great egrets, snowy egrets, great blue herons, and black crowned night herons are nesting in the tops of cottonwood trees growing out of a swamp." I gave directions, and Will soon declared he had it memorized. Turn left off highway 162 after leaving Oroville, and go down Larkin Road about four miles to a left turn at the Afterbay Outlet, left at the Oroville Wildlife Refuge sign on a gravel road, first right turn past Coot Pond, two hundred yards to a left turn, and then 50 yards to the levee overlooking the swamp.

Later that day, I was gratified to find an E-mail message indicating that they had found the roost and had some great observations.

Throughout the bird world, people are being delighted at the April antics of birds readjusting to a new season after combating the winter. There is a joyfulness of growth clearly evident in wildflower blossoms and baby animals. The swallows have returned to the Feather River and are flocking around the Table Mountain bridge, intent on establishing territories and nesting sites under the cliff-like concaves of the cement bridge. All day those industrious birds go sailing through the sky as if proud of their flying abilities and insect-gathering capacities. Once the cliff swallows begin construction of those mud-made miracles, thousands of trips are needed to nearby mud puddles where they gather wet soil one mouthful at a time until the rearing room is completed.

Meanwhile, the white crowned sparrows and warblers of winter, are in some stage of their migratory patterns, and in some distant, mysterious realm, are conducting their own best laid schemes of integrated plan development. Those boy and girl birds find their partner, fly a thousand miles, select the place of deliverance, and carry out the prime directive.

I can only wonder about the buffleheads that were on the Feather River and Lake Merritt last winter. To what picturesque place has their travels taken them? In what wondrous wilderness are they competing for life? All I know is that's the way it is. They know without knowing they know. Their inner impulses guide them through the rigors of earth to reach a place their ancestors occupied, and then, when the storms come once again, they too, will descend with the season to reach calmer waters...over and over again.

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"The flush of life may well be seen,

Thrilling back over hills and valleys;

The cowslip startles in meadows green,

The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice,

And there's never a leaf nor a blade too mean

To be some happy creature's palace..." Rex Burress - April 9, 2000