In praise of the soaring flocks

I have always gotten a small thrill out of watching flocks of birds. It somehow reminds me of how big the sky really is, and how much of it I will never be able to touch. When I was a teenager and had my first car, the boy (well, one boy) I adored lived in a country-esque house that had a lot of trees around it. I would often drive by his home just because I could, and there were always always flocks of birds. I think it had something to do with the surrounding dairies. But since that was a totally unromantic notion, I chose to ignore it. In college, I was so (somewhat sadly) chaste that I took lots of long drives by myself. I had a few favorite spots where I'd get out and just sit on a blanket and read, or write about why the hippie boy I loved didn't love me back, or sometimes sing Barbra Streisand (yes, I really did this. And I am really writing about it?) One spot was by a lake, and one was field-ish with hills around it. The birds made me feel more alive, less alone. Not that the birds gave 2 wing flaps about my sorrow, or my singing, or my safety...was it really advisable for a 19 year old maiden to be in the middle of nowhere by herself? Anyhow. Now when I see the flocks, they make me take a quick breath in. Whatever my three year old daughter has asked me has to be repeated, because I lose focus for a second and just watch. So that's why I chose this template. The end.