ARLINGTON, TEXAS — Sleet and freezing rain sent us home from the office about lunch time. It’s currently 27 degrees with a windchill of 16, and it’s headed downward from here. Yes!

The Bradford pear outside my apartment window is radiant, but I fear this weather will finish off the brilliant pennants one by one. A jay hopped among the branches, startlingly blue.

It’s sleeting harder now. I hear the soft sound of ice against the leaves. Then, movement. A cardinal! A flash of blue. And three Yellow-rumped Warblers.

ARLINGTON, TEXAS — The Bradford pear outside my window has begun to turn a deep, dark burgundy. The breeze through the window is cool now, but the day will be warm. A tiny kinglet just flitted through the branches, only a few feet from me.

But the open road lies ahead of me today. By the time most of you read this, I’ll be on my way to Missouri, and maybe I’ll see a few birds there.

If you are staying where you are today, then I recommend taking a tour around the world with Clare, your guide for I and the Bird 11!

I’ll be your host for I and the Bird 12 on December 8. Submissions are due December 6 by midnight. Send me your links with a short summary, and tell me a little bit about yourself too.

TARRANT CO., TEXAS — About 1:30 this afternoon, I called the Drying Beds office to see if they’d open the gate. A man answered the phone right away and said he’d try to get there in an hour, but he was having problems at the plant. He must be used to dealing with birders, but I did appreciate his helpful demeanor. In the middle of a crisis, he was willing to take time for some nut who wanted to look at birds.

I decided to try birding the Fort Worth landfill first, and I found my way there without any trouble. I pulled in the entrance and looked for signs telling me what to do. I didn’t see any that forbade entrance, so that was encouraging. There was one that said all vehicles had to be weighed, but I didn’t have any interest in doing that, and I wasn’t planning to leave anything there anyway.

I turned left and knew by the smell that I was in the right place. There were Killdeer on the road — if that’s what it could be called — and I started seeing gulls in the air.

I found my way to a site with fresh garbage. Hundreds of gulls rested on the ground, and a cloud of starlings swirled around, kept in motion by the huge machines pushing garbage. The whole scene was an apocalyptic vision of what the earth could become — and is becoming, thanks to us.

Most of the gulls were ring-bills, but I did see a Franklin’s in the crowd. It rested quietly, sporting a dark half-hood. In addition to the gulls on the ground, dozens more filled the skies, some soaring at very great heights.

“Can I help you?”

I turned. “Oh, I’m just looking at the birds.”

“Well I’d appreciated it if you signed in.”

I apologized, explaining that I hadn’t known I needed to. “Where can I do that?”

“My boss is out of town till Friday.”

Oh. “Would you like me to go ahead and leave?”

“I’d appreciate it.”

Great, OK. I didn’t understand why he couldn’t sign me in, but at least this was an adventure. On my way out, a harrier flew over the road.

I decided to give the Drying Beds man a little more time, and I turned in to the River Legacy entrance off 157. I followed the road all the way to the final parking lot and got out to walk.

In the distance, I could see the very location I had just evacuated, complete with huge machines and gulls. According to the sign, a wetland stretched between me and the landfill.

To me it looked like a dustbowl. Or perhaps that’s covered in the “dynamic and always changing” clause. I walked around a bit and had a nice encounter with a shrike and later with a Song Sparrow. Then I got back in the car, headed for the Drying Beds.

The gate is impossible to see in advance when coming from the east. My attempt to slow down and turn right was not successful, and I skidded to a halt inches from a street sign. But the gate was open, and when traffic cleared, I was able to back up and pull through.

I was not disappointed. Hundreds of ducks filled the ponds, and I took my time with them, studying and admiring their fantastic colors and patterns — shovelers’ blue forewings, Redheads’ orange-yellow eyes, a Ruddy Duck’s intricate barring, which I’d never seen before.

There were no whistling-ducks today, but three brilliant male Buffleheads made me exclaim aloud. Diving ducks were well represented, including one young Canvasback. I tallied a dozen species:

• Gadwall
• American Wigeon
• Mallard
• Northern Shoveler
• Northern Pintail
• Green-winged Teal
• Canvasback
• Redhead
• Ring-necked Duck
• Lesser Scaup
• Bufflehead
• Ruddy Duck

I drove around the beds on the eastern side of the complex, but they were all bone dry. A scrawny opossum foraged along the road, scampering down the berm and toward the woods when I tried to take its picture.

One red-tail made me stop the engine and hop out of the car. Its belly and underwing coverts were dark, but his tail was red.

Returning to the wet units, I drove slowly among the ponds. One small willow was full of blackbirds, but they were silent. That didn’t seem normal. I raised the binocs — and saw yellow eyes peering back at me. Rusty Blackbirds, two or three dozen of them!

I saw a dark shape in the grass on one of the dikes. A nutria? No, a bobcat! It looked at me coolly, yawning, and then disappeared into the grass.

A snipe fluttered up as I continued on, but it didn’t go far. I crept forward until I could see it, hunched at the water’s edge just a few feet away. It looked tensed for action and twitched whenever I moved. But it let me look, absorbing details I had never been able to see before, so close I could study individual feathers. Magnificent.

ARLINGTON, TEXAS — Since both of my regular desks were taken today, I set up my laptop by the picture window in the conference room. I couldn’t get the mini blind to stay up when I pulled it, so I tied the cord to a chair.

As I write, I am watching a Great Blue Heron stalk along edge of the pond. The sun has long disappeared behind the apartment complex, and the heron looks very dark and sneaky. With the sun gone, I can feel the cold air seeping through the window. We might get a frost tonight.

Rock Pigeons flew through the skies all day. They hung out on the apartment building roofs but never stayed still for long, taking off and circling around in groups of two or six or many.

A Red-tailed Hawk flew over late in the morning, wheeling and soaring on broad and capable wings. I couldn’t see the bird well, but its tail looked very pale.

House Sparrows dashed in and out of the pampas grass and other ornametals down below.

But my favorite today was the kingfisher. I watched him through much of the morning as he perched on a short post near the water. Occasionally, he gave his tail a slow, methodical twitch — up … down. I thought of the Sacred Kingfishers on the other side of the world. So different, so far away. But they too twitch their tails.

He caught a fish once. I didn’t see the catch, but I saw him sitting there holding it in his bill, trying to maneuver the slippery creature without losing it completely.

Late in the afternoon, he waited long on the fancy stone bridge that leads over the pond to the apartments.

Then with a primal battle cry, he launched himself from the stones and smashed into the water. He was back up in an instant, and the fish in his bill didn’t keep him from uttering a victory rattle.

And now the light is almost gone. It’s time to go home. The heron has disappeared under the bridge, and my fingers are getting cold. We might get a frost tonight.

ARLINGTON, TEXAS — I hear juncos!