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mall and drove to Flint Hill. I brought the dead sparrow with me to check my identification. I was right; the bird was indeed the rare Lincoln s Sparrow. Peterson referred to the sparrow "...as a skulker, 'afraid of its own shadow."’ Other book described the bird as shy, secretive, mousy and elusive. Is there any wonder that little is known of the Lincoln’s Sparrow?
A dead bird can evoke a memory as effectively as one full of life. I remembered a day in early May, 30 years ago when I sat in a blind in a friend’s yard in south Texas, near the town of Sinton, not far from Corpus Christi. No rain had fallen in months. The thermometer registered 103 degrees. All was quiet except for the gentle pattering of water from a sprinkler on the ground that threw spray up against the leaves of a kumquat tree.
I sat hunched over my camera and telephoto lens on a tripod. Waiting was rewarded by a parade of birds, most migrants on their way north. Frantic for water, they were drawn to the sound of the water hitting the leaves and gathering in puddles on the ground. I forgot the heat.
I photographed an Inca
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