If you had one day to see a magpie, and seeing a magpie was your life’s ambition, I would take you to the creek. In the evening, the magpies gather in the branches of a dead willow. Mostly they just look around, but sometimes they laugh out loud, a hoarse, high-pitched laugh that can be heard half a mile away. Now and again, one flies out over the prairie as though it has somewhere to go, but it’s not anywhere important because it soon flies back.
But on some evenings, the magpies aren’t in the willows by the creek. Instead of laughter, there’s only the quiet whisper of the creek. If you were with me on one of those days, I would take you for a ride. We’d go to a place where magpies can always be seen. It’s like a magical magpie place.
Locals call it the Target parking lot.