The Birds of a Hurricane

As the stories go in coastal towns, the calm in the eye of a hurricane is anything but. The wind is absent and there is an eerie cone of pleasant sunshine within the inner walls of the violent storm. But what happens in that space of time before the other side of the storm hits is a chance for locals to assess damage, reinforce boarded windows and battened hatches, possibly even dash for higher ground. Belying the sense of calm in the air, there is a frantic race against time.

And then there's the birds. By the thousands upon thousands, birds are chased inwardly to the hub of the spinning storm-wheel, flocking almost apocalyptically. They don't nest and the only thing to really feed off of is the sense of desperation from the people trying to brace for safety with one eye on the sky.

There is an equally eerie calm in the center of a hurricane that is the birth of a child. In the initial bands of the storm are the endless purchases and transformation of the home and body of the mother. That's a storm, trust me. On the other side of the eye is the birth and first breaths of a new life. That's a storm that can be strong and nasty, before eventually moving quickly on and giving way to sunny skies.

Right now Kathy, Kole and myself sit in the eye of the storm, enjoying the sun and reasonable calm.

And then there's the birds. The thoughts, dreams and concerns of what's coming. Birds of different sizes and colors, but birds that can't go unnoticed. That's what flies around in flocks when there is nothing more to put up in the baby's room, stock up on at Costco, Thank You note to write, bow to tie, 'i' to dot or 't' to cross.

The air is still in here but there are many, many birds.