Minutes before sunset, Ameena held her grandfather’s hand and walked passed a tall and leafless oak tree in the center of an empty parking lot. It was the only tree in the lot of nearly 80 parking spaces. The black birds in the tree were busy tweeting away.
“Grandpa, what are they saying?” the five-year-old asked.
“I don’t know, but there sure are a lot of them, aren’t there? Wanna help me count them?” he asked as he squatted down beside her.
“Sure,” she said. “I’ll count that side of the tree and you count the other.”
“I like that.”
The grandfather scanned the right side of the tree and estimated 18 or 20 birds. He listened as his granddaughter pointed and counted. Just by eyeballing it, the number of birds on her side was similar to his side’s count.
Ameena got up to twelve and got stuck.
“What are they saying, Grandpa?”
“Oh, I couldn’t tell you, Ameena. I don’t speak blackbird, but they are saying something, aren’t they?”
“I think they’re gossiping.”
“Really? About what?” he asked.
“Oh, probably about their husbands coming home late all the time and never having time for them.”
Grandpa chuckled and said, “What else?”
“I dunno. Or maybe they weren’t sharing worms nicely and they’re arguing. Does it sound like they’re arguing, Grandpa?”
“They’re still going at it, aren’t they?”
“Do they do this every night?”
“I’ve never seen them gathered like this and chattering. They probably do get together every night just as the sun goes down.”
Ameena thought about his words. “Ahh, the sun’s going down. That’s it. Probably just thanking God for the end of a perfect day. Now they can go to bed and wake up bright and early to get their worms.”
“Ameena, that’s exactly what they’re doing.”
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