They fly up and circle and then return to rest,
but then one, what?, becomes disturbed or exuberant? and it begins to fly
and soon a whole group joins him and fly together,
in rows and groups,
circling and filling the sky for a few moments
and then the group circles back and returns to the earth
until the next cycle.
Meanwhile, the watcher sits astonished and in wonder at the amazing performance . . .
Robert Adams: "Human beings are tragic . . .There is, however, consolation to be found in the caring of family and friends, in the beauty of some of the natural world, in some of the achievements of civilization, in the not infrequent kindness of those known only a little or not at all, in the reassurance of some stories, in the inexplicable rightness of some music, and in the witness of some pictures. The latter testifies, at its best, to the poise of Mont Sainte-Victoire, to the quiet of Seventh Avenue in New York on Sunday mornings . . ." —or the mystery of birds in flight on an afternoon on the beach . . .
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