Almost every time I write about kolea, somebody calls and says, "Run a picture of that bird so we know what it looks like." Here's a better idea.

The Hawai'i Audubon Society has just published a guide to Hawai'i's birds and it's a zinger. There are enough birds in the book to fill Noah's ark. It's the biggest little Hawai'i bird book the Audubon Society has ever put out, with sparrows to fairy terns in full color.

Page 52 features two excellent pictures of kolea, a male and a female, with good information filling the rest of the page. You can buy the guide in bookstores.

Birds are all around you in Our Honolulu. Each has a distinct personality. They're all in the book. Mynah birds, for example, strut around as if they were members of the Legislature. But they don't have the panache of kolea.

Mynah birds waddle. Kolea skitter. Kolea whistle musically. Mynah birds sound out of tune. A dispute between mynahs is a barroom brawl. A dispute between kolea is a hula.

Cardinals are the dapper dans of Our Honolulu with their red crests and gray vests. They are also among the most talkative. You hear a bird singing in a tree and it will most likely be a cardinal. They have a lot of different calls. One of them sounds like a wolf whistle.

Some people like to feed pigeons and ducks. It's probably for the same reason that people like dogs. They come running when you have food. It's an ego trip. I prefer birds with a little more shame who view humans with suspicion.

Now, take the Java sparrow. There's a classy little bird, well dressed in a smoky gray morning coat with a jet black cap and white cheeks. But the Java sparrow is nervous. He chitters while he's pecking for bugs in the grass, and flies up when you come close. The bully on the block is the red-vented bulbul, dark, aggressive, with a peaked black cap.

You don't have to drive to a bird sanctuary to see wild creatures in Honolulu. Just walk in a park or down the street. When I'm bored on my morning walk, I see how many different species of birds I can count right in the middle of town. I usually get up to a dozen. It's only the tip of the iceberg.

Once I began paying attention, I saw birds I never knew existed. Like the waxbill, a tiny brown streak of energy who wears a red mask. Flocks of them land on the grass or in a bush. You walk by and they fly up like a hand grenade explosion.

Elegant birds like the night heron are special, of course. They are poetry when they fly. Every now and then, soaring way up high in the sky, you'll see a giant frigatebird, or 'iwa, the thief, with its forked tail and swept wings, a black marauder. All you have to do to see them is go outside and look.

Reach Bob Krauss at 525-8073.