Wave after magnificent wave of Black Kites on their way to Africa are crossing the Andalucian day sky.
From all over Europe, these birds have been making their way south to this point which lies closest to their African winter quarters.
For two days, the fierce Saharan Levante wind have prevented them from crossing the narrow but perilous straights.
So, gathering in their thousands, they have built up a soaring raptorial bottleneck. Here they have paused with that instinct born of sixty million years of avian evolution for the perfect moment to cross.
Just now, the high level winds must have shifted, or else they can wait no longer and in their thousands they begin to spiral higher and higher on the thermals.
This dizzying display will gain them the altitude they need to attempt the long and punishing glide across the deadly continental divide with its fickle winds and waiting hunters.
With each turn, these avian hunters become no more than black specks against the intense blue.
Their wings fold like scimitars as they cleave the air with fierce and one pointed focus, the journey has begun.
For many this will be their last voyage, while for others it will be the first of perhaps thirty such crossings.
Perhaps in six months I will once more stand at this spot, gaze heavenwards and be rewarded with the sight of the return of these majestic birds of prey.