The ground beneath the birdfeeder is just a stop for the gray junco on its pilgrimage from north to south and back again when the weather returns. I ask, How far north do they come from? How far south will they go? Is my domicile acting as a rest area in the middle of their journey from home to home? I try not to ask the same questions of myself. I may feel the migratory itch and, like Abraham, set off into the unfamiliar in search of a new land of promise.