As I walked the garden rows, I suddenly saw in the sky what looked like leaves, swirling with the wind currents, swiftly falling and then just as swiftly being swept up before yielding again to a downward spiral in what I assumed to be their one magic “mass migration” from tree branch and twig to the awaiting ground. They were not leaves. In an instant the flock of black birds aligned itself so perfectly into a single coordinated pattern of flight. In another instant the group swooped down, turned wings sideways to soar upward again, and then with a more chaotic flap of landing wings settled onto the outstretched branches, now bare of leaves, of the shagbark hickory. With wings folded down, the noise commenced. Nearly piercing and yet, at the same time, with so many individuals contributing, it seemed more like a conglomerated humming. A background sound filling the sky. Chatter. Chatter. Chatter. I could only listen, deaf to its meaning, but knowing it surely meant something.