Time stopped. The woods evaporated and left me standing awestruck in the presence of the holy bunting. It was as if I was looking from the outside at a scene that contained only the bird and me. Effortlessly, I slipped into a state of grace in which I felt honored by a magical being that had previously only inhabited the mythical word of my Birds of America. At the same time, I was completely at ease and had a sense that the wilderness was my true home. I have no idea how long the sighting lasted because the Indigo preexisted in my imagination and perches there to this day in my memory.
— Sam Keen, Sightings