Last night, I arrived home from some errands around 6:30 PM to find a flock of Common Nighthawks feeding over my neighborhood in the southern suburbs of Denver. Two or three of the birds became several became a dozen then two then more still.
The birds flew wide laps around my neighborhood, occasionally streaming over my house. What were they doing? They were silent the entire time, as they fed on flying insects. And what do Nighthawks eat? The most likely prey were more flying ants. As I walked through my yard, I saw small insects taking flight. They stood out because they were not visiting, as the bees and flies and wasps and beetles do — my wildflowers. Rather, they seemed to float upward as they went.
I pursued a few of the insects, but most beat me to the sky. Finally, on a dog walk a bit later in the evening, I hawked one from its flight. (In truth, I cupped my hand in its path, causing it to land on my palm.) It was, indeed, a small flying ant.
Nighthawks at Sunset
The nighthawks looked dramatic in the late light of summer. Our western sun, as it dips toward the Rocky Mountains, is particularly strong and bright. The sun lit the nighthawks. Their white markings — their throats and underwings — shined.
The birds cast shadows on themselves, their long wings darkening their chests and flanks. This added to the drama of their flight, as they cut upward, backward, away, then back toward me.
I hope I never tire of this simple thrill — to be in the presence of these birds, who I barely understand. They seem to come out of nowhere. Not unlike the flying ants they pursue, which leave the rain-softened soil in late summer, nighthawks spend their days unseen. And where? Building tops? Perched on the cottonwoods lining the trails in Denver?
And then all at once, they arrive. Then all at once, they don’t.
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