Birders of a Feather, Stick Together
“That right there is the Eastern Meadowlark,” Mark shuffled up the grassy hill on his stomach and pointed. I yawned, glancing half-heartedly at a tiny yellow-and-brown blob in the tree. “Are you almost done?” Will moaned, picking up a stick and twirling it in his hand. “We’ve been out here for hours chasing after that rainbow bluebird thing.” “It’s called a Painted Bunting,” Jane said importantly, pushing her glasses up her nose. “That’s right, my little birder!” Mark handed her his binoculars. “And we’re not leaving until I get a good picture of it!” Will and I shared a look. “There it is!” Mark positioned his camera, his voice barely above a whisper. “Steady…” Snap! The bird burst into the sky in a flurry of colors. Will sat with two pieces of a stick in his hand. “No! Come on! I- ARG!!” Mark was clearly one word away from cursing. “You probably would have messed it up anyway,” Will muttered. I shook my head. “That’s it!” Mark stood up, glaring. “You, you red-headed-” “Oh...