Waiting for Tippy Hedren

Every night around 6:10, the neighborhood starlings roost in the cedar trees along our driveway. It's a fairly recent phenomenon. We've been here for over 12 years, and we've never seen such a large group of starlings working together with such organization, and with such a keen sense of time, wearing name tags and carrying brown paper bags.

At first, they would congregate on the lines above our street.




They'd chitter at each other, a few of them would fidget now and then, and there was some occasional positioning and rearranging of cliques. They would just perch there, as the sun gets lower and lower in the sky. Over the past couple of weeks, there seemed to be more and more birds on the line, but they always were very orderly and organized. Not unlike the birds in Hitchcock's classic film. You know, the one where the crows send out regiments to accompany you at recess or meet you on the porch to peck your eyes out.

At some moment in time only they determine, every night they would begin, in small clusters, to move across the sky above us, and roost in the cedar trees right beside our bedroom window. They'd jockey for position in the trees, disappearing into the branches, and chattering away at each other, as, every few seconds, group after group of them would move from their perch on the line to their roost for the night. Hidden in the trees.
Outside the bedroom window.










Yesterday, however, something different happened. There seemed to be at least 300 birds, and at about the usual time, instead of leaving in small groups, they all exploded off the line at once. Instead of going directly to the cedar trees, they began circling our yard over and over again. On closer examination, we saw that a hawk had flown into the mix, and they didn't dare to try to land while it was around. Because, it might caw at them with its shiny beak or try to grab them with its sharp, skittery talons.















They kept circling and circling, until finally, the hawk went off to look for easier prey. By this time, we had goosebumbs and neck cramps.
(Nice name for a blog?)




























Once they got into the trees, they just kept chittering and chattering, flitting in and around the trees' nooks and crannies, until finally, they were all out of sight, and settled for the night. Or, so it seems...




I'm curious about how things will go tomorrow.


Will I see this happen again?

Or, will I check into a hotel?