Amateur poet bird i.d. quiz

Montlake Fill, October 10

A tan flock of ten
erupts unpredictably
uttering p-r-r-its.

It rises, gathers,
cirles thrice uncertainly,
and twitches earthward

to fall all as one
and become invisible
once more in tall grass.

Step once and scan and
step once more and scan again,
incrementally.

In thirteen minutes
one seen, preening itself back
into a grass blade.

The next burst of flight
seemingly under my feet.
Tan again, dark tails.

Similar routine:
Flit flit flit, prit prit prit, trip
in and disappear.

Over my shoulder:
"MIKE CHECK." Wha..?! Oh, Husky
Soccer announcer

sound system testing.
"TEST." "...Everybody dance now!
DUNT, DUNT, DUN DUN DUNT, DUNT, DUN

DUN DUNT, DUNT, DUN DUN..."

I know where they are
and I scrutinize the spot.
Nothing. I approach.

Nothing. They fly again.
a languid, apprehensive
cheeep joins the rattle.

After they vanish,
I decide to let them be
unidentified.
--
Scott