UKARUMPA, PNG — With four straight rain-free days (a record since I arrived two months ago), we’d begun to think the dry season had finally come. Once the fog cleared, this morning was as bright and beautiful as the others.

Black Kites, Brahminy Kites, and Pacific Swallows ruled the big blue sky. We could see the hills and sky again after two days of smoky conditions. These grasslands are maintained by fire, as they were for centuries or even millennia before the white men came.

Pied Bushchats, Hooded Munias, and Long-tailed Shrikes looked beautiful in the sunshine. I was surprised and pleased to find a young Dollarbird high up on a radio antenna. Evidently they’re rare but not unheard of up here. The bird’s extensively brown body and dark bill showed me that it was young yet.

I managed to catch one good image of a Black Kite, Milvus migrans.

By afternoon, clouds gathered, and half an inch of rain poured down. We’re hoping it was the wet season’s dying breath.

UKARUMPA, PNG — The little Sacred Kingfisher was so close I could make out individual feathers. The deep teal feathers of its shoulder were rounded neatly, edged with buff. Primaries, stacked and chiseled, gleamed almost sapphire. Soft, fringed breast feathers were neither ivory nor orange, but a tasteful in-between. Longer back feathers seemed deep green, but then the bird shifted and its colors changed. I could see rose and plum mingled with the shining blues and greens.

The bird’s massive bill had a pale patch on its underside, and its dark brown iris contrasted only slightly with a large black pupil. Its feet were tiny, and it bobbed its tail mechanically.

Dropping to the ground like a bluebird, the kingfisher snapped up a brownish arthropod. Despite its name, this bird might not eat a single fish in all its life.

Then a Gray Shrike-Thrush caught my attention, hopping across the lawn like a robin. What these birds lack in spectacular hues, they make up in personality. Sometimes they act like inquisitive jays, and sometimes even like wrens. I once saw a pair toss their heads back and utter soft piping notes before bursting into their loud, ringing whistles, fluttering their wings all the while.

I have continued to learn over the last three weeks, albeit slowly.

The strangest event has been the sudden appearance of Peaceful Doves here, a mile above sea level. I first saw two on April 29, and I have heard them on several occasions since, including today. Their call is loud and distinctive, and I cannot imagine that I would have missed them until now if they’ve been here all along. Perhaps they’ve only recently begun to sing. But what are they doing way up here?

I’ve also been pleased to observe several Black-headed Whistlers lately. I’d seen only one female before. By virtue of increased exposure to the species, I’ve begun to learn their whistled song, which apparently I had not bothered to distinguish from the Gray Shrike-Thrush in the past.

Last Saturday, I came upon a Black-shouldered Kite perching on a radio tower. Its folded wings projected beyond the end of the tail, and when it turned its head to me, I was startled by the similarities between its face and the face of a Snowy Owl. When the kite launched itself from its perch, I saw its clean white underwings. Earlier in the morning, I’d had a nice look at a male marsh-harrier and loitering Black Kites.

I’ve also learned who makes a soft musical trill I’d puzzled over repeatedly. It’s the Mountain Myzomelas. They have a loud, sweet chip call, but they also sing a trill like a speeded up Pine Warbler. But three or four songs continue to baffle me; I hear the various melodies frequently but haven’t been able to glimpse their singers.