Surreal swifts

Jason Sandford

Jason Sandford is a reporter, writer, blogger and photographer interested in all things Asheville.

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It starts with just one or two chimney swifts. They dive and circle, flutter and jet overhead. And twitter. Just one or two.

But as the evening wears on, their birds-of-a-feather brethren come, too. There are five or six swifts now. Soon, a dozen. Then more. And still more. Hundreds move frenetically, round and round, in and out of one another. It’s hard to believe there’s not a mid-air collision.

Their aim – the chimney atop the Grove Arcade. Like black water down an avian drain, the swallow-like birds are pulled to it. Circling ever closer, then out. Back, then away. Finally one disappears into the chimney’s maw.

The crowd that has gathered all around lifts a cheer. People sprawled in the beds of their trucks, tucked into their camp chairs, peering out the Battery Park apartments or from atop the Wall Street parking garage. They marvel.

And, as only could happen in Ashvegas, the show comes with a live soundtrack. The drums. Thrumming from somewhere down Battery Park Avenue. Pounding a beat to match the wings overhead. Thrilling.

The first wave of swifts has poured into the flue. There’s another, circling first, then in with such blurring speed that it’s almost incomprehensible. How do they break their descent? Where do they all go?

One wide, black line after another narrows and drops down into the brick tube. Finally, the last few are gone. The crowd bursts into applause, wishing the swirling mass a still night.