Photography courtesy of Lowell Washburn, all rights reserved.
Subtle Transitions.
While it was still barely light — almost black in fact — a nearby male suddenly began his daily chorus with bold and boisterous enthusiasm. I knew exactly which bird it was. He’s been singing here all summer; usually from one of two perches located about thirty yards apart. In addition to his highly predictable, well established routine, I know its the same bird due to a pattern of lightly colored feathers on his breast. Buntings often raise two — even three broods during a single season, and this particular bird is a definite die hard. But sooner or later even the indigo buntings have to call it quits. Another three weeks, and they’ll begin the daunting 1500-plus-mile nighttime journey leading southward to Yucatan and beyond. By the time the last bunting finally vanishes from our local woodlands; we’ll know that summer has ended and that fall has officially begun.