Their wings in flight span 5 feet. When one of their lookouts sees a hawk, they somehow signal the great flock, today close to 100,000, and they rise, a word that does not really work. The word fails. They make a great rhooshooshing sound, like a wave coming fast over a shingled beach. The wave keeps coming for one two three minutes. The sound keeps building. They fly in enormous clockwise circles, in vast murmurations. When they come overhead and include you in the circle, above the rush of their wings and their cries, you hear such shouts of joy from the crowd. People wave their arms. They look up and smile. Children dance. You think, this is what Genesis describes, this immediate, headlong presence of so much life, an unveiling, a great humming susurration, a lifting up of your own, heavy earthbound flesh. You cannot stop smiling. You do not think. You wish you too could join them, a wish that is unthought but only articulated by your own cries, this upwelling you feel within. 
