flock

ah, for the flight of small birds - there is no miracle quite as uplifting (ha!) as the soaring, billowing ebb and flow of hundreds of little birds. they swell like a sail in the light spring breeze; blown, seemingly helplessly, to wherever the wind might take them. the swirling changes in direction, so like the schooling of fish, baffles me - how do they know where to go, where to be? without the guiding ripples of a universe of water, how can they weave together as closely as fish, never knocking another member of the flock out of that clear blue sky? for no one leads, and therefore none can follow; they all just understand, instinctually, where and how to be from moment to moment.  i have never seen one fall.

it is ineffable. and, any attempt at puns aside, it lifts my spirits.