The birds were crossing the trail as I rounded the corner. I put the gun to my shoulder and closed the distance as they scurried through the fallen leaves. Advancing, I waited for them to flush, picking a target when they did and swinging with it.
The gun boomed and one bird dropped and I ran past it, hoping to get another shot. The birds flushed ahead of me. They were shadows in the trees, most running, some flying, a blur of wings here, a flash of feathers in the sunlight there. No real targets.