When I came home from work I found the red-breasted sapsucker dead on my back porch. It lay on a mottled black and red blanket that covers my air mattress. I sleep there sometimes, the battle with mosquitoes fair trade for the cool touch of the night air and the open view of the stars, their brilliance unhindered by city lights. First thing I thought when I realized the lump on the blanket was a dead bird, was how well camouflaged it was, just as it had been against the trunk of the nearby aspen where the sapsucker had spent much of its time. Against the tree, the white and black feathers merged with the same shades on the trunk. On the blanket, the redness of the bird dominated over its black and white, blending in perfectly with the blanket. Amazing how nature hides its creatures so well.
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