Herds of Birds

This neighborhood tends to be wildlife central, and for the most part I love that. Recently we've seen lots of squirrels, owls, a hawk, a skunk, a raccoon as big as as large dog, rabbits, deer, Carolina wrens, European starlings, but fortunately not the ground hog or the possum that we've had hanging around in the past. Now that I think about it, I guess I wasn't too thrilled about the raccoon or the skunk either, but the skunk was such a novelty that I didn't have time to be anything but fascinated.But the really interesting things are the herds of birds. I know that technically they are a flock, but when I was growing up my family jokingly referred to them as herds, and it stuck in my head, and so herds they are. Besides, it rhymes.

Two stoplights north of our house is an intersection where I tend to be stuck every late afternoon, and that's when all the birds come out to play. I've never seen them up close, and so I don't know what kind they are, but they do a strange and wonderful ballet. It's an area with a lot of tall old trees, and we get hundreds and hundreds of birds there at a time. One large group of a hundred or so will rise up and swirl and swoop through the air, landing suddenly and just as suddenly taking off, while another group (or two or three) will be doing the same thing from a different tree base. The groups sometimes intersect, and sometimes do an end-run around each other, but there are never any collisions. I don't know how such large flocks communicate with each member just where they are going and when, but they do--the timing is perfect. They ride the air currents for fun, I think, and I'm the unintended beneficiary of their entertaining exercise. I'm always sorry when the light changes and I have to move on. The birds never seem to tire of this game, and a game it seems to be, and they stay around all through our unpredictable mid-western winters to play it. It certainly enlivens our gray winter skies.

Love, Spud.