The distant siren goes off at dawn, a warning that the turbines are starting and the water will soon be rising. Miss Becka sits on her porch drinking instant coffee, an open journal in her lap containing notes of bird sightings. All the usual suspects this morning. Even the hummingbirds are zipping around. Then a surprise visitor, a little songbird the color of the sky, landing on a branch of the shadbush and picking off a larva. When Miss Becka lifts her mug, the bird shoots straight up into the canopy. A cerulean warbler. It traveled over three thousand miles just to be right here.