Ahead and to the left the sun is rising. Giving light to the paragraph of birds that have lifted off from some copse of trees, I know not where. They are perfectly gathered and perfectly spaced in the pinkish-blue, sun-kissed, morning sky. We see them float as a cohesive story over our heads. Tethered to the wind, they glide above into the blue. Their account whispers into the heavens on the beat of their wings. We catch a glimpse of their narration as they sink behind the trees to our right.
We stare in wonder and in silence, my boys and I. We continue to travel to school, but we are changed. The words of the birds have punctuated our Thursday morning commute.