Feb 07 2007
The Birds
If I were Tippi Hedren, I’d be a little nervous now.
Every day at around this time, the tree in the courtyard hosts a convocation of black birds. They fill the winter-empty branches with their nearly weightless, dark bodies and the air with their raucous conversation. It’s the bird equivalent of a trendy night spot out there, although apparently anyone with wings can get in.
This has been going on for about a week. The variation on the theme is to pack onto all the windowsills, side by side, and then talk as loudly as possible about how crowded it is, comparing it unfavorably to the Tokyo subway at rush hour.
The creepiest part of the proceedings is when someone walks through the courtyard. Then the birds fall silent, as if they had been plotting that person’s demise (or mocking their outfit) and didn’t want to be overheard and caught.
As darkness falls, there’s a whoosh as they all fly off together, calling out one last threat. Or promise.
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