The birds, home

I heard them well before I spotted any: that big flock of blackbirds that periodically rises out of the cornfields and swirls into our woods. When they pay us a visit at least several times a year, the temptation, at first sight, is to imagine a modern day re-enactment of The Birds, the 1963 Hitchcock horror classic about avian malevolence. But these birds, almost all of them White-eyed Grackles, are not bent on any kind of mischief. They're working our woods for one purpose only: to feed. And that's what they were busy doing when I walked into the forest, camera in hand, to try to document the visit. Sometimes, I can get quite close, but this time, they were eternally vigilant and flew to a new locale whenever I got within about 20 feet of a group, most of which were on the ground, flipping leaves in search of worms, bugs, and, in at least one case, acorns. After about half an hour, they had emptied nature's refrigerator and moved deeper into the woods, the only sign of their presence a rustle of thousands of wings and grackle words fading into the distance.