Blackbirds

I stepped outside this evening and watched as a flock of blackbirds settled along the powerlines. They are always the last to go; the lingering shadows of their colorful relatives. The red-breasted robins, brilliant cardinals and squawking bluejays have already left on the tail of the first northern wind. Yet, the blackbirds remain. They sat perfectly still, chattering in the calm of the evening, silhouetted against twilight.

And suddenly, in sporadic flight, they dived and separated; pieces in a puzzle scattered across the borderless sky. Momentarily they were alone in their course, skirting haphazardly across the tip of the sunset as wings beat off tempo with the rest.


Then, just as quickly, there was reconnection. Like a well-choreographed dance they glided together as one in fluid movement into the night. A few regathered atop the line in front of our house, seemingly wanting to linger just a moment longer. It reminded me of the three little spiders who remained behind at Wilbur's barnyard at the end of E.B. White's beloved story, Charlotte's Web.

And then they too, took wing; calling to one another as the last act ended and the curtain fell on the day. They will soon be gone for good...and I will miss their serenade.