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On that early morning in May, in the woods of Pennsylvania, we had been out for half an hour without seeing a single bird. But were we disappointed? Hardly. The birding was wonderful.
Although they were unseen, birds on all sides were filling the air with sound. From the dense undergrowth came the emphatic whistled song of a Hooded Warbler, "weetaweeTEEoh." Ovenbirds chanted their insistent crescendos. A Hairy Woodpecker rattled and drummed. From a clearing beyond the trees came the bright, quick phrases of an Indigo Bunting, and a Prairie Warbler's wiry attempt to play the scale. Near a stream, an Acadian Flycatcher snapped out a demand that seemed astonishing ...