Masked troupe of birders stalking the university campus as I returned from a morning lake walk, lifting binoculars and long-lensed cameras to the treetops while robins and red-winged blackbirds trilled. Sirens were cresting somewhere not too far off: each species has its song proclaiming here I am, or back off, or someone’s going to emergency / somebody’s going to jail. Thank you, Don Henley, and for this: my love for you will still be strong / after the boys of summer have gone. The songs of youth are never wasted, even or especially when they’re the songs of someone else’s middle age.