After the landscapers removed some pine trees in my favorite area of my work parking lot, I got my car thoroughly cleaned. No more trees coating my car in fine golden pollen or dropping needles down the vents! I stepped out the door at the end of the next work day to claim my clean car--and right into a 1960s horror film. Hundreds and hundreds of blackbirds covered the parking lot berms, jostled each other in the trees, and rose in cacophonous clouds. I think Alfred Hitchock must been frightened by a scene like this before he made the movie, "The Birds."
They pecked the ground, the asphalt, and each other. They bumped into each other and flew up angrily at cars that dared to disturb them. Looking at the berm, I found the normally inconspicuous ground cover was laden with tiny red berries. Feast time for birds! I would have high-fived them, but I fear those claws, especially after seeing that Hitchcock movie. Then I saw my car. All thoughts of high-fives vanished. Pink bird doo streaked every window, creating the effect of artwork done by—well, drunken birds. My screaming and arm-waving didn't faze the birds, but it did attract the attention of the building guards. Never a good thing.
My co-workers say the berry season doesn't last long. I hope they're right. It's a long walk from the center of the treeless south lot where the unamused guards "suggest" I park until then.