" Them Negroes was far away from the doings on the plaza where the Old Man was to hang, way out from it. But they sang it loud and clear. . . . Blow ye trumpet blow Blow ye trumpet blow. . . . You could hear their voices for a long way, seemed like they lifted up and carried all the way into the sky, lingering in the air long afterward. And up above the church, high above it, a strange black-and-white bird circled ’round, looking for a tree to roost on, a bad tree, I expect, so he could alight upon it and get busy, so that it would someday fall and feed the others. "

― James McBride , The Good Lord Bird