That first morning, I awoke to the sound of bongo drums on the street. To add to the strangeness, it was still dark out, and devastatingly cold. What’s more, there seemed to be more than one drummer. In fact, the drummers seemed to be answering one another, in concert – as if holding a conversation involving several bongo players. When it grew light, I went outside to investigate. Because of the cold, I wrapped a wool blanket around my head and walked out into the street.
There I discovered a group of ravens imitating exactly the beat of riffing bongo players. I found the big black birds overpopulating the Fairbanks rooftops, swinging on the electric wires, and on the sidewalks, digging through garbage.
In the local coffee shop, the birds were the main topic of conversation. The residents were collectively convinced something bad was about to befall their town.
C.A. Willis, Seattle