Winter Flock (from the archives)
One Friday, pace Heraclitus, I walked through the same flock of birds twice. They were scattered thickly across the sidewalk, a black pool of feathers and pulsing hearts. When I approached, they burst upwards like a geyser, swirled breathlessly around my head, and then settled down across the concrete a few feet in front of me. Foolish, nearsighted birds; I was unstoppable. Three more feet and the pebbles of my stride sent ripples over the surface of the soft water, parted the anxious host. Up they burst; in concert for a second time; a persistent, incorrigible whole.