My bird feeder is a banquet of visual delight. I sit at my desk, try to write a sentence, and am continually interrupted because a new little guy has popped onto a perch to demand my attention.

Hmmmm. Black feathers. Thin patch of yellow over bright red shoulder patches. I reach for my National Audubon Society Field Guide to North American Birds. Flip to perching birds. Flip. Flip. Flip. Aha! Red-winged blackbird.

Elegant fellow, isn’t he? Looks like Fred Astaire in a tuxedo, all fancied up with a dapper red cummerbund and a top-of-the-world cock to his head.

Back to my computer. Write a few more words. Well. Helloooooo. Who are you and where did you come from? Took a stroll through a rainbow, did you? Brilliant blue head. Wings in receding shades of yellow, turquoise, chartreuse, gray and blue. Eye-popping orange undercarriage. Back to my Field Guide. Back to perching birds. There you are. Painted bunting!

Welcome to my world, Mr. Painted Bunting. Now, beat it. I have work to do. I force my eyes down. I look at my keyboard. I furrow my brow. I frown. I scowl. I can’t resist. I look up again.