The first time I saw a bird anting, the process of lying down on an ant bed which helps the bird clean its wings of parasites, I thought I had found a dead bird, a beautiful blue jay prone on the ground. I froze, flooded with sorrow. This was something I'd never seen. What should I do? Go for help? Prepare a burial site? And then the blue jay moved. Shifted. Looked at me. Waited a bit. Then flew off. Since then I've learned that this is a normal part of bird behavior, wing-cleaning. Each time I come upon this scene I halt. It feels like intruding on privacy, something very lovely, peaceful, personal. And sometimes I witness something awesome, uncommon- the little wren, (held my breath), and the juvenile red-tail hawk. The sparrows "bath" in dust. The others seem to prefer anting.
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