So mature: the chicks are all grown up now, tall and shapely. They watch the males circle — warily with wide, dark eyes — feeling exposed and obvious, dancing reflexively in place or picking at their food. The boys preen and strut, looking twice as tough as they are, spewing nonsense meant as come-ons. Lady-killers — somehow they all look alike, and every one’s a Tommy. When they aren’t bluffing and sparring, they’re joking about eggs in the morning. Real mature.

Blogger’s Postscript: I’ve written on this topic once before — a similar thought, in many ways…