Black Birds in White Mist

A Flock of Common Grackles

Upon the mountain, the fog is dense, whitewashing the world. Wind blows the last of the brown leaves from their branches. I go for a drive, desperate to escape the gloom. But today there are layers of clouds and even the valley is overcast. I pull into a scenic overlook, knowing the fog is too thick to glimpse even the trees along the bluff let alone the valley below. But beauty is never far. As I step out of my car, a flock of black birds flutter up from the treetops. They blow like leaves in the gusty wind, migrating from one group of skeleton limbs to another. Their chirps, trills, and squawks rise and fall like the roar of a crowd. A few brave males, with their shinny black feathers ruffled, dive low and perch near me. Their white eyes pierce my body, searching my soul. Then they rise into the canopy again. For a moment, there is a great ruckus as the birds discuss my presences. Finally, all goes quite. I settle in as they settle down. Together we watch the dense fog blow over, lift slowly like a curtain, and reveal the beauty all around us