The big bird hung there in the air.

The burnin' bird hung in the sky just like a friggin' sun.

A large black bird hung motionless on the air, as if from an invisible rope.

The birds who couldn't find a roostingplace hung around him in a living thunderhead.

The birds hung away again, and I motioned Narayan's men in close.

The birds could have hung without harm for several days in the 20-degree cold, but a thaw was coming.

The birds hung in the air, stretching for home.

The bird hung around, casting his vexed eye down on us from the trees, still needing to be fed.

A second golden bird, a swallow, hung from her hand by its thin chain.

A brilliant scarlet bird hung on a branch two feet above my head, pouring out a golden song to greet the morning.