One day last week I sat in my car during a lunch break contemplating my lack of faith in humanity (see Saturday’s post) and was delighted by an extraordinary flock of birds.
I gasped as hundreds of small creatures fluttered down to a patch of green grass in front of my car – overwhelming the space (and making me think of Hitchcock’s “The Birds”). The green turned to an undulating sea of brown, and still more came. How did they knew where to land amidst all their fellow aviators? And, yet, they just fit together neatly – filling in every spare niche. Their heads bobbed up and down pecking away at unseen, to my eyes, morsels on the ground.
Just as I was turning once again to my book the carpet lifted en masse as one giant being, flapping their wings in unison with a resounding “whoosh!” and they were off. How did they all know when to lift? Who signaled it was time to go?
Enthralled, I watched their progress – swooping up and plunging down – riding the waves of the air. Like an orchestrated and choreographed dance through the sky.
They swam through the atmosphere coming at once close to my hood and then steering away at the last second – engaging me in their dance, finally roosting on a neighboring house as they had in the grass before me. Once again they lifted and I noticed their resemblance to a pack of irritating gnats. Moving as one body over the rooftops. If the homes had arms they would bat at them like pests upon my face on a warm Fall day.
They’re off again. Further away now, looking for stronger, warmer currents to ride, perching on spaces teeming with juicier morsels. I return to my book with a renewed sense of wonder about the world around me. My faith is one of God’s creatures – refreshed.