First thing this morning, as we're setting up for the day's programs, I stumble upon something quite surprising in the pavilion: a female cardinal, dead on the ground. People can almost always identify a male cardinal with ease--the bright red coloring, the familiar crest at the top of the head--but I've always thought the females, though more muted, captured just enough color to be truly mesmerizing. They still have the crest, barely tipped with red, and though their back is the gentle gray of an overcast sky, the fronts of the wing feathers look as though she flew through a sea of peach-colored roses, picking up color along the edges. Soft, yellow feathers run along the breast and up through the cheek, concealing the heavy gray of the downy feathers that trap her body heat. A tiny red eyebrow curves above the eye and, as always, the bright orange beak adds an extra blaze of intense color.
I don't know how this bird died, or why it ended up in the pavilion. There were no noticeable marks of predation that I could see; the only thing that seemed of consequence is that her neck may have been broken, though she was near no windows. Never one to dismiss something like this so easily, I brought her home for a few pictures before nestling her against the root of a tree off in the woods, to rest and be absorbed back into the environment however Mother Nature sees fit. For your viewing pleasure:
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