This morning at the outdoor train station, I was staring at the tracks and wondering why I get up before the sun to go to work and wishing I were still in bed. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed movement in the sky.

Thousands of little birds, black against the pre-dawn sky, were riding the air currents from west to east. Like a river, they flowed and meandered — here they are wide and spread out, there they come together in a dense rush. The river moved from one channel to another, but the birds were moving as one. My eyes followed them back behind the trees, across the sky, and over the horizon — thousands and thousands of wings. Their quick movement added a sparkle to the flow.

I also noticed that I was the only one who turned up her head to watch them. I felt the smile spread across my face in wonder of the beauty of these very natural things that most seem to ignore. My delight and movement alerted the other commuters to “something strange” and they began to watch as well.

It being Samhain, I wondered if the birds were the souls of those who have died passing from this world to the realm of the Ancestors.

There is flow. There is movement. Life goes on.

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