As I was driving home, a flock of blackbirds fell out of the sky. It was a diving swarm, a single ball of coordinated black spots bouncing against the gray clouds. They didn’t need to speak to know in which direction to go; they didn’t bump into each other even at their frenzied speed. Rather, they flowed like a torrential stream, pooling at choice points in the sky. They moved as one, a larger consciousness, a group of wandering nomads who already knew that they would arrive together at their ultimate destination, the journey together being more important than the endpoint.

I was open but not searching. They stole my breath away, and in an instant, I was plummeting through the skies with them, swooping, my heart in my throat, a smile in my eyes. They welcomed my spirit into their flock. I was soaring. We settled on the field. I was home.