Outside the cabin, as I rush from one task to the next, an improbably wet sound overhead. Bird wings, but as if they were flying through water, or water in the air.
Looking up, I see a huge flock (huge!) of … pigeons (probably the native and local Band-Tailed)? or Mourning Doves? Maybe 100, 200 of them! I’ve never seen so many at once.
Moving as a unit, they twist and turn once or twice, gray shapes against a cloudy - foggy sky.
Then they, and their wing sounds, quickly merge into the foggy clouds, vanish, evaporate.
I am a witness.
Vanishing just as quickly is my recall of this vivid, singular moment. So I turn the experience around, up, down, in order, and backwards, in my mind.
First the sound (can I hear it now?).
Then the shock of so many!
Then the bird-shapes perforating the fog-clouds, one-by-one, fluidly.
And I am left behind, wondering, was it a sign? An omen? Mere good luck?
No matter. I told Jane about it that evening. She liked the story. We debated the bird ID. And I decided to write this story.