Today she walked towards the sound of gently rolling water, away from the noise of cars, and into a paradise of chirping birds, and tall grass growing green, to purple to gold.
Gliding. The raptor is gliding, wingtips of long, elegant wings curled. Majestic. The raptor perches. Slender bough plunges with its sudden weight… Songbirds, a quarter of the raptor’s size, appear from lower branches. They fly at the raptor, crying out, until the raptor leaves. But the songbirds are not done. Chase. Raptor glides elegantly. Songbirds
Great bird stretched its wings. Trees shook with delight for miles.
Walking down the asphalt path, she felt a quickening. A pull towards happiness. A push from wonder. An intake of breath. Her eyes opened wider. Feet moved faster. Bird song. So loud their music, all other noise evaporated— traffic people the sound of her anticipation. She looked to the trees, expecting to see them full
Instinct brought her here. And here she can finally rest. Among those whose language she doesn’t understand, who waddle and swim and don’t mind the rain.
She wonders, as she points the camera up, if they see her as some poor creature, without wings, her flat feet planted on the ground? Never to fly as they do, nor roost, like ornaments on their communal tree.
While some remain behind to raise the call:
Causing birds to fly south before their time.