This is Bird Note.

It's a cool morning in the ranch country of the West.

A black-billed magpie cuts a dash amidst the open habitat.

Flying parallel to the road, with deliberate wing beats, it flashes its black and white wings like a semaphore,

its tail fluttering behind, the plumes longer than its body.

The march trees are still bare.

The magpie's raspy call is bold as brass.

Like its nest, a rough, bulky sphere of sticks nearly three

feet across, with entrance ports on the sides, sitting in plain view. Black-billed magpies are

omnivorous, like their close relations, the Jays and Crows. They'll even hitch a ride on a steer

to pluck ticks from its hide, which goes some way to explaining why magpies are such survivors.

The bison herds they once depended upon are greatly diminished.

And although they've had a long history of run-ins with ranchers, they've persisted.

Yeah, they've persisted. And when the morning light catches one, perching just right,

its wings and tail shimmer with iridescent blue and green.

For bird note, I'm Michael Stein.