There are reasons to leave these northern places in winter: black ice on wet streets, plagues of flu and bouts of headcolds, snow by the backdoor that requires a shovel and a decent back, the rumble of furnaces on cold mornings, the long nights and the colorless days. But there are a few reasons to stay around. There is unpredictable beauty in this barren time, and lovely surprises.
This early morning, just past dawn, I was filling our bird feeders when I heard a ruckus coming from the front of the house. Across the street, in a large maple, a flock of blackbirds--starlings and grackles--were celebrating the day. There were hundreds, maybe thousands of them. I woke my wife and she came flying outside in her nightgown, camera in hand, just it time to see this huge cloud of birds erupt into the sky and head north. We piled into the car in pursuit, and found them again blocks away. It seems that they gather in enormous flocks like this in January, huddling together at night for warmth and leading each other to any sources of food that might be available. And that big of a flock certainly helps to scare off a singular predator that might have a hankering for bird.
Little do they know that they also brightened a drab, dismal morning with their wild wings and raucous song.
A Gathering of Blackbirds
We awaken
to a cacophony of voices,
the rattle and cry
of hundreds, thousands
of blackbirds,
filling a tall maple like ebony leaves
fluttering against a gray sky.
This heavenly host
has no angelic message,
no glory to blind us.
But when suddenly they fly,
a cataract of feathers
rising as one great being
moving in a swirling cloud,
we race to the car
and follow them.
They are mystery, even joy,
in this bleak midwinter,
congregating against the cold,
a sign to all of us,
aliens in this winter land,
that we will survive—
that we are always better—
together.
--Timothy Haut, January, 2017
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