Last week, a friend and I took our kids to a park, where we could walk a long lap around a man-made lake, feed the ducks, and maybe forget for a second that the world is a dumpster fire. About halfway around, we paused on a rocky shoreline. There was, as there usually is, a large flock of birds hanging around, pecking the ground. As we stood there talking, the birds abruptly took flight. The sound of 75 birds lifting into the air at once is not nothing: it’s a cacophony of wings, louder than you think it would be. I looked up, marveling at the way they all quickly fell into formation, wings spread, catching the wind. And then, almost as quickly as the birds took flight, they took a sharp right, swooping down over us. For the briefest moment, the world around me was completely silent. The birds landed in precisely the spot they started in, and continued pecking at the ground as if there had never been a disruption.
This can be a New Year | SEPTEMBER
This can be a New Year | SEPTEMBER
This can be a New Year | SEPTEMBER
Last week, a friend and I took our kids to a park, where we could walk a long lap around a man-made lake, feed the ducks, and maybe forget for a second that the world is a dumpster fire. About halfway around, we paused on a rocky shoreline. There was, as there usually is, a large flock of birds hanging around, pecking the ground. As we stood there talking, the birds abruptly took flight. The sound of 75 birds lifting into the air at once is not nothing: it’s a cacophony of wings, louder than you think it would be. I looked up, marveling at the way they all quickly fell into formation, wings spread, catching the wind. And then, almost as quickly as the birds took flight, they took a sharp right, swooping down over us. For the briefest moment, the world around me was completely silent. The birds landed in precisely the spot they started in, and continued pecking at the ground as if there had never been a disruption.