The waxwings are back this week. They come every year around this time, arriving stealthily, in big flocks like schools of airborne bait fish. For such a brightly plumed bird, they do a remarkable job of keeping a low profile, seeming to only hang out around humans when the sky is dim and they can blend in with the dead leaves still hanging on the late winter trees. Yesterday morning I pointed a few dozen of them out to two tree guys from the power company whose job it is to look at the branches, and they couldn’t even see them until the second try. In their defense, they seemed like they might be high.