As the Birds Do
I’ve lived in this town my whole life, and most of the time that’s fine by me. But in late fall when the sky fills with birds migrating south for the winter, traveling thousands of miles, I get homesick for places I’ve never been. Places like Panama with its canal marvel and bustling commerce, Brazil with its rainforests and vibrant culture, or Peru with its high mountains and vineyard-filled coastlines.
I wish I could see them as the birds do — not just high up in the air where I can glimpse the whole earth stretching out before me; but also in the trees, where I can see creatures so foreign to me as to be made up; and also on the ground, amongst the people, but ignored by them.
It may sound lonely to travel and not be seen or noticed, but I think it would be lovely. To see things how they really are — no false smiles for a tourist or genuine disdain for an outsider. To see families, friends, enemies, all for who they are. To get more than a facade of a place. To go deep into the soul of the land and the people.
