I turned onto our street yesterday evening, just as the sun traded its midday glare for a rose-orange glow. A dozen or so pigeons had gathered at the corner house, some on the lawn, some milling about in the street. When I passed, they rose as one, falling in beside and above my car like a proud hometown crowd welcoming a hero home from war. Fluttering shadows fell all around me and danced across the pavement, confetti with wings. It was one of those perfect moments when all life’s hubbub fades to silence, awaking the place where beauty aches. To my increasing delight, they led me home and (I almost expected it) turned at our driveway, gliding low, then finally sweeping up into the sky to disappear over the carport as I pulled in.
It won’t change the world, but–at least for a magical moment–it changed the way I look at it.