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The clipping this text was read from
The clipping this text was read from

ered blind to retreat to the shade of my hostess’ porch to cool off with a glass of iced tea.

Suddenly, a bird of intense brilliance and color landed on the ground: a male painted bunting. The bird dipped his head and drank repeatedly. I took his picture. To this day, looking at that slide brings back the exhilarating memory of the nonparial that filled my view finder. The head of the bird was brilliant blue, bordering on purple. The breast was rose-red and the back pale green, like the new leaves of a tulip tree. There were shadings and gradations of these colors as they blended into each other.

Painted buntings are feisty and pugnacious. Males often fight to death over prime nesting habitat or an olive green female. The broad and long porch of the Inn faces the ocean over a thick growth of coastal shrubs. Once I stood on that porch on a May morning and watched two males attempt to settle a boundary dispute. Watching them was like being at a tennis match. Back and forth they went as one male chased another

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