29 April 2009

Startled Awake

A few times I have been waiting at a light, completely immersed in the minutiae of my thoughts, in the rabbit warren of mental static, churning, falling into that place of, what is it?--that cognitive grind? A few times I have waited at a light and a flying creature is what startled me out of my head. A highway hawk on a sign, a kestrel twitching its tail from a telephone line, a turkey vulture riding an air current, an eagle's white head bright against the green of a tree.

Or maybe I wasn't stopped but driving the time a hawk nearly flew into the windshield of the car in front of me. The driver's body suddenly erect, alert, awake from whatever waking slumber he was in.

And then there are the crows that fly along with you, at the same speed as your car, coasting along as if it were easy, just hardly something worth noticing really, but they want you to see them, to witness the grace and humor and wonder of going forward like you, but above you. Air an afterthought. What could be simpler but feather + wing + flight?




Dickinson wrote: "I hope you love birds, too. It is economical. It saves going to heaven." That spark in the heart seeing a creature so different from yourself--unbound, spontaneous but programmed to sing or croak or shree--that it transmogrifies you each time you realize this, a shift in your whole thought pattern, if only for a minute, an entrance to the other, the whiff of the present tense, again and again and again. Even the house sparrows give reason for joy--how could they not, even in their common plumage? For it is not a small thing to gather air, and rise.

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