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I understand that they flock together, but why THAT tree? What made it THE tree of choice? Why not the next tree over?

We called it “the bird tree” because that’s where the starlings would congregate. Some people hated them, calling them flying rats. But I loved to watch the swarm make big circles in the sky, always returning to the same chosen tree. If the individual birds were unimpressive—maybe even ugly—the swarm and its synchronized movement was a thing of beauty.

Sometimes neighbors would shoot at them, bringing one or more down. Still, the circling resumed shortly afterward, seemingly undiminished. I hated the guns, but the continued activity was reassuring, life-affirming. The resilience of the birds made me appreciate the avian performances even more.

They always ended up in the tree, the same tree, with a cacophony of energetic chirping. Until.

It wasn’t the guns. They only took a few birds down. I don’t really know what it was. Something changed. The air smells different now. The winds are stronger. We have more days with driving rain and hotter afternoons. The bird tree is losing its leaves even though it’s Spring. And the birds are nowhere to be found. I’m frightened.