Every evening for the past while, a sea of birds (black birds?) fly over the land at dusk. We see them as we finish building for the evening, or as we prepare to build into the dark. They don’t go far once they’ve vanished from our view, I know because their immense dialog is audible for nearly an hour after. Apparently, they roost not far from us. Their flights converge right over our land, just before they come together in one tree, or perhaps even three.
Life is Pretty, Lea