The first fall we lived here, I looked out the laundry room window and saw thousands of birds. They were rising together in swoops and waves all over our back yard. Something happened to me as I watched them, frozen in wonder. Suddenly, I knew something I didn’t know before, although I’d be hard pressed to put into words what it is.
Ends up, our property is on the migration route and we are visited by thousands of birds every fall. They spill into our yard like a group of tourists disembarking from a long, cramped bus ride at a rest stop, looking for a cool drink and a bite to eat. Without fail I’m drawn outside, slightly breathless and filled with both an excitement and a complete calm, a pocket of stillness amidst a noisy and ever-moving throng. In minutes it is over, they fly across our neighbors’ field, and I go back to my own preparations for winter, fancying myself not so different than a bird on the wing.
Another Roadside Attraction 