Swift Time

Even at this high point of summer, fall is in the air.  It seems early, but migration is well under way.  If you go to the lighthouse and scope the horizon, literally tens of thousands of sea- and shore birds are on the move.  It's reassuring to see all those numbers.
On shore, the Vaux's swifts are beginning to gather into wispy clouds each evening.  (Oddly, their name is pronounced "Vox" after William Vaux.  Mr. Vaux was a friend of John Townsend who explored the NW and named this little gray-black bird in honor of his friend back East.)
Anyway, these small birds with the scythe-like wings have been spending the summer up here, nesting and raising young.  As the days shorten, the urge comes upon them to gather again for the migration south.   Swifts disperse during the day but as evening approaches, they begin to mass together.  The absolutely best part of this is that they select defunct or non-operating chimneys for their communal  roosts, and we can watch the process.
As the sky darkens, wisps and more wisps of these fluttering, flittering little birds gather around the chimney of choice.  They use the same place year after year, if possible. Every night there are more.  If you live in or near a town in the northwest, there are often "Vaux's Swift" nights where local birding groups hold info sessions and people gather with picnic dinners to enjoy the spectacle.
I volunteered with Portland Audubon at Chapman School in NW Portland for this annual event.  There is a great, old-fashioned feeling of summer slowly pouring away, as the swifts pour into that tall chimney.  Kid run and play in the park, parents eat or sip wine on the slope facing the school, dogs run circles around it all.  We volunteers have a great time showing off little swift specimens and hopefully, partially demystifying this experience with wildlife.
It's usually close to ten by the time the swifts get serious.  Before this, small groups sally closer and closer to the mouth of the chimney, some actually dart in then out again.  It's really great if there's a moon in the sky:  tiny dark bodies flickering over the moon's bright face.  Oohs and aahs abound.  Once in a while a raptor gets the brilliant idea that here is an easy meal to be had.  A Cooper's hawk or sharp-shinned hawk will perch right on the lip of the chimney.  Drama!!  Again, nature red in tooth and claw.  You can root for the swifts or root for the hawk who has to work hard for a living.  Nature decides it.
There is a moment that seems like any other, but for the birds, it's bed time.  The smoky swirling in the sky over the chimney thickens and thickens.  Moving gracefully, beautifully, the swifts are one body, eddying quickly down through the mouth for the night.   There are so many that you think it will never end.  Thousands and thousands drop down to roost.  Finally, a few late-comers zip in and it's over.  Silent and dark.  Then there's a collective sigh from the crowd.   As people begin to gather up to go, everyone is kind of quiet, as if they don't want to wake the birds.
I hope maybe it's reverence and gratitude for having been able to witness this small miracle.