It was two years ago that I first witnessed the swifts in their dramatic sunset roosting pattern. Every fall, the swifts migrate in large groups along the length of the west coast. They don't have legs, only claws attached directly to their breasts, so they fly all day, then gather in old growth douglas firs, hollowed out logs, or in the case of the Chapman Elementary swifts, chimneys, when the former is not available. Every evening from late august to early october, thousands of swifts gather en masse, swooping and diving around the chimney before collectively diving into the chimney as the sun sets. It's quite the show and I was captivated upon my first viewing. The swifts' choosing of the chimney due to loss of their natural roosting sight is yet another tale of human destruction disturbing the delicate balance of the ecosystem. At the same time, when the birds first started roosting in Chapman's chimney in the 1980's, the school turned off the heater to protect them, wearing sweaters in the classroom as the temperatures dropped. Eventually, the community raised enough money to replace the school's heating system and the chimney is now kept around solely for the birds' use. In this aspect of the tale of the swifts, I see hope, hope in humanity's ability to amend our wrongs and learn from our mistakes. I carve the swifts because of their beauty and mystery, but also to remind myself that my actions have consequences that I might not fully realize at first. The balance of life is a delicate one and it's ever shifting.