Stroll through the city with me. Come on. Let’s go for a walk.
Down along the river. Across the bridge then back again. It’s early evening and quiet here. Silent compared to the bustling day.
Look up to the top ledge of a building. Under the signage, still unlit as the sun begins its descent. What are those dots against the concrete? Is that dentil molding? Decorative relief?
One dot moves near the middle. Then a flutter far right, a quiver to the left. They’re birds. Hundreds of them perched in a row across the building. Lined up one by one on the ledge.
In comes another, furiously flapping.
“Make room! Make room!” beat his wings.
And they do make room. Comfortably he is enveloped in the rest as if he’d always had a place.
Another lands. And another. One leaves, diving off the edge and lifting up. More come. Some go. Most stay.
The evening sky reaches above the building and the ledge and the ones resting. It’s filled with dots. Thousands more birds in endless, circling flight.
There are plenty of high buildings here, plenty of ledges to make for safe rows. Room enough to keep them all.
Come settle, little flying ones. Break from your wandering journeys, your weary circling and dipping and floating away. Come. Land. Many find rest. And still there is room.
“The servant reported back, ‘Master, I did what you commanded—and there’s still room.'” Luke 14:22 The Message, from a parable of Jesus
Landed by North Carolinian Ben Folds. If the piano alone doesn’t move you, please check your pulse.
This post is in fond memory of Dr. George Worrell.