Everywhere I turn, I see dead birds. Last week I found a dead Finch with a flash of yellow feathers flat on its back in our garden. I buried it under a pile of periwinkle. And this week, I’ve seen three pigeons –– rats of the sky –– splat on the sidewalk among the early Autumn leaves. Are they an omen? A reminder to get a pap smear? Wait, when does my passport expire? Anyway, I’ve been thinking about birds and along came Isobel Harvey and her gorgeous feathered friends. Harvey’s birds are very much alive. Her style is exuberant and childlike (I can see her paintings illustrating a kid’s book of nordic myths) and there really isn’t a painting of hers I wouldn’t hang in my house.