On Friday, December 12, 2003
The birds descending, flapping noisily in the sharp morning chill, filling the sky with chirping. Each: a day forgotten, a life passed, a failed purpose, but they descended on him and carried him into the sky above Madison, hundreds of feet, until he could see the entire city below, huddled quietly on the shores of its lakes, many curtains still closed and steam drifting placidly from the industrial stacks. He was frightened at first, but the birds reassured him. This is how life happens, they told him, very small and vibrant, a complex noise clustered on the edge of a great stillness. By now, the birds had carried him far beyond the sky, beyond the atmosphere. Do you see it? they asked him, it only deepens with distance.