Birds flying in groups around the office


I usually see, when I am at work in the morning and paying attention to what is going on outside the window, or just happen to be gazing out of it, a group of birds flying in roughly circular patterns around the office building.


Now it is near nine in the morning and there they appear, the birds of nine o'clock: winging, scintillating, wings fluctuating, seemingly a bit like sine curves; curve-like wings, over the far off and whitish fields.

And again at 9:07, winging high in the distant sky in a shifting collection, some birds a bit up and some a bit down; they look so free, an image of freedom? How do they feel? Have they it solved, do they need nothing, are they free? Do they have a yearning, not just the yearning for sky (for that is their world), but a yearning for something else, beyond, now for them impossible, or something inexpressible?

9:21 : here again and closer, gone quickly now, after looking like small speckles as if peppered on the light-filled yellowed clouds on the Simpsons' light blue sky over the left side of the warehouse; gone now, lost to sight, anyway.

9:22 and nine 9:23: another and another smaller group pass?

Ten fourten; sweeping above like a squadron of bats into the blue blue air. Very swift they are.