The black birds hop from log to log. All the while, tilting their heads to and fro. Then after a brief pause they reach into the bark, and with surgical precision, pluck out a squirming grub. Then with heads thrown back they swallow the grub with the ease of an Olympic gymnast dismounting from a balance beam.
This goes on all day in our log yard. As the logs from the fire salvage operations pour into the yard, so do the black birds. The swarm the logs for this feast of opportunity. Sometimes they engage in black bird battles for dominion over some particularly grub infested log. I think these birds get fatter every day. Soon they may not be able to fly.
Salvage logging continues at break neck speed. The beetles invading the logs are an indicator of the oncoming decay. Next will be stain, splitting and then rot. Time and decay are our enemies. The black birds are a constant reminder of the ticking clock.