[obol] a word about the real red bird

[Paul T. Sullivan]

OBOL:

So there was the early report.  Then the contact.  The beautiful yard.  No 
bird.  He called; it was back.  Look again.  It's a CARDINAL, not a Summer 
Tanager.  Permission to visit and try for photos.
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It's there!  Where?  In the hedge.  I see it!  Click.  It's on the feeder; 
can you see it OK?  Click.  Where'd it go?  It's singing.  Where?  Dead 
camera batteries. I see it; it's in the middle of the garden; here, in the 
scope.  Ahh, it flew.  "Quoit, Quoit, Quoit, Quoit, Quoit."  I see it, back 
in the tree at the far end of the garden.  It's in the scope.  Try for a 
picture with this camera.  Flash.  Dark image.  It flew, this way.  Are we 
in his way with the pickup and trailer?  No.  OK.  Try another shot through 
the scope.  Camera moved.  The Sharpshinned Hawk.  No birds.

IT WAS BEAUTIFUL.

Did you get photos?  Yes, thank you.  Time to go.
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Through all this, we knew ... we knew something about the probable origin, 
something about the potential discussion, discussion....   We knew it wasn't 
"countable."  We knew our visit was a privilege.  We knew about courtesy to 
our kind host and the beauty of the morning.

The red bird was real, singing, under a partly sunny sky, in that 
red-and-green hedge and that winter garden in Oregon.  BEAUTIFUL.

Paul T. Sullivan