The sun was warm at Giant Springs, and cedar waxwings were basking.
Smooth little dumpling birds, hanging in the bare branches like ornaments.
A Bullock's oriole flaunted his snowy epaulets in the same tree.
A firebrand of a bird, singing perhaps about the swarms of midges all around him, about abundance.
While lower down, a least flycatcher sat her fluffy nest.
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