A few minutes ago, from my bathroom window, I saw a woodpecker perched on the edge of our birdbath that rises from a garden of hypericum. As I watched, another woodpecker joined the first, and they began to drink, dipping and lifting their heads in a Sabbath-Day rhythmic pattern. I’m sure they were slurping, for I saw water sling through the sunny air around them and fall onto their sleek backs. They were beautiful birds, shiny black with patches of snow white. Their splendid heads were scarlet.