Without fail, they arrive on the greenbelt at 2pm. Large numbers of them at first, followed by dozens of stragglers. Instinct works, but it does take time. In no time at all, the visitors commence a Crowvention.
There are announcements to be made, and made loudly, with many attendees opining at once. Sometimes, there is a focus of attention, like the unfortunate hawk, alone and wishing for escape. There are more greetings, late news to share, and when the invisible cue is given, everyone piles into the same shape and flies off.
Like the sounds of construction sites, you get used to the cacophony. You know the workers will return, next month, to grind up the other side of the road. It’s job security, not their life, exactly.
The noisy ones never tell you when they’ll be back, yet you know they’re on their way long before they arrive. After all, this routine is their life’s work, their gift, and it has become part of my life, and routine, too.
Today, the noisy ones pass over my house and keep on flying, yakking all the while. They don’t stop and they don’t return.
For just once, I wish they had told me.
the broom rearranges