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Zeke opens his mouth to answer but stops when the crowd on the hillside buzzes, suddenly settling into chairs and onto picnic blankets. I follow the gaze in the direction of a veritable symphony of squawks and flapping wings.
It’s like something out of a Hitchcock film. There’s a black cloud of fluttering wings that moves across the sky to the sounds of clapping and cheers. The flock is long and dense, a murky swarm as it pulses and writhes across the field toward the chimney.
“They’re all going in there?” I ask, watching what must be at least five hundred birds curl like a tornado, circling around the chimney, hovering like a terrifying storm cloud.
I lean forward, watching as the entire flock coils around itself, churning like a hurricane until it’s created a clear eye. It rises taller and taller as birds catch updrafts, and it builds like a massive smoke plume. Then, slowly, as if one unit, the bottom of the flapping cloud descends toward the chimney. I watch, holding my breath as the lowest bird draws nearer and nearer, until finally, it descends into the chimney. The crowd roars.
I laugh, clapping along with them, and Zeke does too. The birds keep spiraling and dipping down into the brick column, descending beyond view.
“Aw shit,” I hear someone behind me say, followed by gasps.
A larger bird, probably a hawk, swoops into the flock, breaking it apart, but not before claiming one of the birds between its talons.
The crowd boos and jeers the hawk. Loudly. I try to stifle a laugh.
“Fucking falcon!” Zeke yells as others around us yell in agreement.
“It’s a Cooper’s Hawk,” a woman behind us says.
I bite the grin off my lower lip and point at Zeke. “Is he one of yours, Coop?”
He playfully shoves me and I snort-laugh, shaking my head in amazement as the flock recalibrates and finds its pattern again, spinning around the chimney and funneling back down.
The crowd cheers again, clapping, whistling, and calling out cheers of support. As the flock gets closer and closer to filing into the chimney, the tension mounts.
“So, they just come back year after year?”
“I guess so,” Zeke says, leaning closer. “They fly down to Mexico and Central America. And they’ve been doing the exact same flight for over thirty years.”
Boos and hisses sweep across the hillside as I watch the hawk circle overhead and then dive. The crowd gasps as we watch the last trails of the little black birds circle the chimney. I rise to my feet and suck in a breath.
“Go, little fluffers! Go!”
Zeke roars with laughter and grabs my hand, pressing it into his chest.
Everything around us goes quiet and hazy. Perhaps it’s the tension, the bated breath as the hawk descends on the last stream of birds funneling into the chimney. Or maybe it’s just the sheer rightness of this moment, where Zeke presses my hand against his heart. The last birds dive into the chimney and the falcon pulls up, unsuccessful in its pursuit. The crowd cheers and my eyes flicker to Zeke.
But his eyes are already on me. He’s smiling, his blue eyes sparkling in the twilight as if he’s just seen something he doesn’t want to forget.
“That was amazing,” I say, a little breathless.
He nods, still holding my hand against his hammering heartbeat. I wonder if it’s possible that his heart is beating faster than mine.
“They’ll roost in there until they head south.”
“And they come back here every year?”
He finally lets go of my hand, as if he forgot he had it, and we sit back into our seats. He fishes out a chocolate bar for dessert and we break it apart.
“Same place, year after year.”
“It’s crazy,” I say, enjoying the rich dark chocolate while someone plays dance hall music and an impromptu dance party breaks out down the hill.
“What is?”
“I guess I’ve always known that birds must pass through here—or other animals—to migrate south. But it’s one thing to know they pass through and another to know they come to this exact spot, to thischimney, year after year after year.” I shake my head at the wonder of it, watching the top of the chimney where birds periodically flutter around.
He nods thoughtfully. “I wonder if there’s something embedded in their DNA? Of course, some will remember if they’ve followed the flock before. But maybe it’s deeper than that?”
