This time of year often renders me unable to distinguish between birds and falling leaves; sometimes their patterns of flight are confusingly similar. I looked upwards at about 8:43 in the morning, sky a stubborn grey, but the air slightly warmer than yesterday, and needed a few moments to decide: bird, leaf. Those tiny-winged ones that laugh openly at our lumbering ground movement, the way they change direction faster than we can blink our eyes, thin air dances that seem coordinated and patternless in equal measure. Perhaps seven bodies, a few handfuls of wings between them, masquerading as leaves descending from the birch tree as I continue to blink and evaluate. No, definitely bird, as they move much faster than leaves could in the stillness.
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This time of year often renders me unable to distinguish between birds and falling leaves; sometimes their patterns of flight are confusingly similar. I looked upwards at about 8:43 in the morning, sky a stubborn grey, but the air slightly warmer than yesterday, and needed a few moments to decide: bird, leaf. Those tiny-winged ones that laugh openly at our lumbering ground movement, the way they change direction faster than we can blink our eyes, thin air dances that seem coordinated and patternless in equal measure. Perhaps seven bodies, a few handfuls of wings between them, masquerading as leaves descending from the birch tree as I continue to blink and evaluate. No, definitely bird, as they move much faster than leaves could in the stillness.