Chick-a-dee-dee-dee, chick-a-dee-dee-dee. The unmistakable voice of the small black and white bird speaks its piece nearby. Not out in the open where it could be clearly seen. On a safe perch within the shrubs under the feeder. It flits from branch to branch. Always watching through the bare, leafless bush. Feeding on bits of this and that left behind on the limbs; and then gone. Flight path through open ground to the trees. Where once again, it announces it has landed. Chick-a-dee-dee-dee, Chick-a-dee-dee-dee.