In a picturesque little hill-town in eastern Massachusetts, where I was
spending the summer, I had opportunities for studying birds, their
language, and their customs. I shall not soon forget a remarkable sight
in the heavens on the evening of August 26. I was suddenly attracted by
an unusual twittering and calling of the birds, and, on looking out of a
window, I saw a multitude of birds of various sizes, from the tiniest of
hare-birds, or sparrows, to birds as large as robins, flying in all
directions and filling the air, it seemed, with their songs and their
soft little notes. Ah, I thought, the birds are having a gala day, a
picnic, or a ball, or perhaps a regatta. They were sailing, soaring,
whirling, diving, dipping, in intricate mazes, yet with a certain method
that was both bewildering and charming. Perhaps they were trying their
wings for their southern journey; perhaps they were merely taking a
twilight constitutional en masse. The hour was a little past six
o’clock. The southern sky was pale blue, overspread with soft,
translucent clouds of opaline hues, paling and flushing—a most
fascinating picture of itself, and a fine background for the bird
parade. All around great trees rose in billowy masses of emerald green,
maples and elms predominating; while, standing like tall sentinels, two
giant Lombardy poplars rose above them all, looking straight up to the
heavens. In pauses of the dance the birds seemed to sink into these
bowers of green, and for a few moments no bird was seen. Then, from
somewhere, one came sailing through the air, then two, then three, with
little notes of command, as when the leader of an orchestra with his
baton begins the overture, and then a general rush of wings and the
whirling and wheeling and dipping and darting was again in full play.
This display of bird maneuvring continued for about half an hour. I
viewed it from a doorway where I could command the whole scene, which
was enchanting and something which I had never before seen.
I have not the presumption to suppose that it was a field-day review
gotten up for my especial benefit; yet I enjoyed it quite as much as if
it were.
It is possible that they were swallows out on a foraging expedition, for
the day before a shower of small, green flies swept through the air,
lighting here and there and everywhere within its radius. Perhaps the
birds had discovered a school of these flies in the air and took sudden
advantage of the aerial sporting grounds. Whatever may have been the
occasion, I wonder if such bird parades are often seen.