Sitting at a traffic light (8:00 AM, seven minutes to reach the train, low-grade anxiety tempered by the repetition of the scene) I saw a large flock of small sparrows fly as a united cloud of wings and bodies settle on a building. I saw a smaller flock of larger blackbirds circle and colonize a traffic light, then drop, one by one, down to the guardrail. Like determined drops of rain, they spilt the wind from their wings in a controlled plummet. I was reminded of the way you can do this with aircraft, by tilting the plane to one side with the ailerons and then stomping on the opposite rudder, giving up most of your lift and using the fuselage as a brake in a controlled fall. I did this on my first solo, over the airport all too soon and far too high and my rental hour almost up. I remembered that I missed flying, while I wondered what a mathematical analysis of the group flight dynamics of the sparrows versus the blackbirds would reveal. Who decides where they are going, and how do they coordinate their movements? What's the deal with the one blackbird that stayed on the traffic signal, hopping side-to-side like a nervous sentry? How can we really, honestly, ever know the mind of another? That's the super-power I'd like to have, even more than flying: to ride around in your mind for a time, and really know what this all felt like to you from the inside. With just enough of myself left to remember to leave, eventually, and merge your perspective with mine.
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Camera divider and signature illustration by @atopy.
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