Before night falls, crows (rooks) circle in huge flocks in the darkening sky. Budapest is the wintering ground of these birds, and they waltz for long minutes above a big cemetary, just before touching down at the place they usually spend the night. In flight formations similar to starlings, they fly closer and closer to their usual roosting place, where they can rest safely until dawn. Their movement together is a bewitching, hypnotic vortex, like an ancient magic: mysterious and monumental, a ritual among the dead, formed by the basic instinct of survival. No one expects such beauty from these black, croaking birds hated by most people.