Last evening in the low light of nearly 8 p.m. I stood chatting with a co-worker and friend on downtown Duluth's central hillside. The parking lots there look like old industrial building sites, long ago cleared off, rimmed with a trace of cracked stone foundation, pothole-riddled and squeezing out any assorted weed that can get a start. We had begun talking about birds, though this friend is not a birder. I glimpsed what would in that setting first seem an English sparrow in its best breeding plumage, but for the moony green crown on the head. Along it came following the nearest stone and weed border just a stride below us, a perfect and resplendent spring chestnut-sided warbler full of the richest soft woodland color. This could be pointed out as more evidence that storms drive hungry migrant birds to the ground, and wherever they fall, they will try to glean food. *Tanya Beyer*
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