This time I'm thinking of the birds.

There is an interesting thing that I have seen on my way to/from work over the last couple or so years that I honestly find quite amazing.  I am sure my descriptions of it here can never fully express the magnitude of the spectacle but I do feel inclined to make an attempt anyway... it's really just that awesome... and Alfred Hitchcock would probably agree.

Birds.

Not the movie but an actual flock of birds.  I think they might be crows(which would technically make it a murder, making it even cooler) but it's hard to tell.  There are SO many that it's hard to even visually separate them from one from other.  They are black birds in any case.

Giving my serious estimate of the numbers puts the figure in the 20,000+ range easily.  A couple years ago I thought maybe even in the 100,000+ range seemed likely.  The number is so staggeringly enormous, with birds perched on every visible branch, that the birds themselves have difficulty even finding a place to land... anywhere!

I would like to somehow climb into the middle of their mega-party just to be among them.  Just sit down in the middle and video tape/photograph in every direction.  And if they start to attack me I just start spinning with my fists out and running and jumping and kicking in every direction.  Just when I start to burn out of energy I start screaming and grabbing individual birds and start biting them back and throwing the carcasses I have amassed at the other ones like feather covered rocks of fury!  It's a pretty visceral scene in the landscape of my thoughts.  Far more bloody than I really am.  More of a crazy scene in a movie I haven't yet made, I suppose.

I wonder where they all come from and where they are headed to?  I am sure it just happens to be along a major migratory route and they seem to find it a good place to rest.  I wonder what they do when they get to their destination.  Do they subdivide back into their normal sized flocks and cordially part ways?  Do the flocks get all mixed up when this happens?  Are their flock leaders that communicate flock intentions to each other?  Do they even notice if their friends are missing or left behind?  Do they eat the weak if there is not enough natural food to be found in the environments of their resting places?(I'm not sure if they're even omnivorous)  Is there a king?  If so, who made him king?

Among a few of these thoughts I was thinking it would be fun to make a short story about the scene written from the perspective of one of the birds in the flock(I really would like to properly call it a 'murder' except I can not say with any authority that they are in fact crows.)  Just something to humanize the experience of their travails in such great numbers and over such great distances.

I was thinking of it a little from the perspective of a family road-trip mixed with a few elements of the early pioneers of American history.  Adding a bit of a social or political commentary might not be much of a stretch considering the dynamic.  Plus, in spite of the typically child-focused direction animal writing aims, I would like to put this more in the interest realm of a late teenager/young adult/adult... probably since that is what I am at the moment.

I kind of catch my mind up in the idea of actually being one of them searching for a place to land, wondering where my flying buddy has been for the last hour or so.  I'm not too worried about it at first since Caruthers has been a pretty tough egg for as long as I can remember him.  After finding an adequate perch I decide to take a short nap and do a little rummaging for some food particles of one kind or another.  The other birds seem largely uninterested in idle chatter for the most part, something a little on the unusual side to be honest.  The clouds are dark and brooding, casting a fairly broad shadow across the valley, but I can't smell any rain on the way anytime soon.  The nap is a nicely reinvigorating power-nap.

A few of the camp leaders can be heard congregating a little way off as they call for the "roundtable" gathering.  King Edison will be flying in soon and they usually like to have a good schematic of the next leg of our trip somewhat deep in the planning phase by the time he shows up to give his peck of approval.  I sure am glad it is more of a group effort nowadays.  Ever since King Edison got all tangled up in some sort of poisonous berries up north last winter, he has not been the sharpest beak in the bunch.  He still gets my nod, however, for his immense personal love of the flock as a whole.  There isn't another bird flapping who puts more time in, gives more of himself to the cause than good ol' King Edison.

After I come to I am vaguely aware of King Edison's arrival.  He is a bit out of earshot but things seem to be a little stirred up relatively speaking.  I finally get a bit of the dark feeling I probably should have gotten from the clouds hours ago.  The uneasy feeling deepens beneath my feathers and I think I heard somebody mention Caruthers' name.  I hop over closer to the commotion to gather more information but nobody seems to have a focused idea about what the King has told them.  I decided to ask him myself only to be met with a most unfortunate revelation.  Caruthers was among the short list of one's who were caught by the dog beast from the north... it was unlikely he or any of the others had survived the ordeal.

It was all for the purpose of saving the King.  He emphatically praised and thanked all who added their part to that horrific tale and, turning to me, waived me over to share a word in private with him.  It was then I further realized the immensity of Caruthers' and the others sacrifice... the King had found the secret to the flocks survival... it was a priceless knowledge that only he could properly disseminate due to the nature of his role.

Well... that really fizzled out.  I am sure it is directly tied to my own increasing exhaustion level as I have been writing this.  Better luck next time I guess.