As I watched, more and more birds filled the sky. Their winged acrobatics, at first a mass of confusion and panic, became more structured though no less violent. Standing at the window, watching them with a mix of awe and fear, I could see the glass rattling in the pane. The thunder of so many flapping wings was creating a current of wind that, I was certain, would soon shake my house to its very foundation.
Suddenly, en masse, the birds flew upward, more and more of them disappearing from my view. The few remaining leaves on the winter trees were pulled upward with them. One snapped against the window before being pulled away. I gasped and jumped backward.
In seconds, I was back at the window, my hands pressed against the cold panes, my eyes wide.
I had been so consumed in the Saint Vitus' dance of the birds that I had forgotten about the four ravens who had initially captured my attention. They had moved; all were now sitting on the same wire, lined up in formation. As I stared, they all turned in unison, their heads cocked as if listening to a sound only they could hear.
As one, they flew upward before spinning off toward the lane behind my barn.
My eyes widened and filled with tears of abject terror.