We were nearing the end of our long journey back from the most beautiful Pembrokeshire coast. It was a Sunday night, when the vehicles and the people begin to meander back into the city, with Monday morning and the week ahead on their minds. We were almost there; crossing the last bridge between Wales and home. And there they were; the huge flock of playful birds over Wandsworth Bridge. We stopped in our tracks. In fact, we pulled right over, on the middle of the bridge, in the evening traffic, hazard lights on, while we watched in amazement at the beauty of the dancing birds. And they were dancing, so playfully. It was a display of such intricate choreography in the evening sky.
They seemed so full of joy and play and a slight mischief, as they swooned high and low, fast and slow, almost laughing. Like the seriousness and responsibilty of the Monday morning was almost upon them and this was their last moment of pure abandonment. We were captivated. Completely. Then I watched, as people walked past, focussed on what lay ahead, forgetting to look sideways, or up to the sky, and so completely oblivious to the secret spectacular show happening all around them. They just didn't see it. I was amazed at the 'not noticing'. How could this show not stop you in your tracks and demand a moment of undivided attention, and awe to The Creator?
But that seemed to make the moment more special, like we were somehow looking in on something secret; something sacred.
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