Search for North

She often dreamt of rivers.

She wondered how birds knew which way to fly. With the beginning of fall millions of birds soared overhead. No maps, no compasses, no real goal besides warm. It was as if an internal magnet had turned itself and gone from pushing to pulling. Did the polarity of the earth shift? What was this instinct and where did it come from? How could she find hers?

In the spring the same ritual occurred in reverse. Pull turned to push again and the flock filled the air with cries that sounded like laughter. A perfect "V" injecting the lowest clouds with its movement. The swells of the earth went unnoticed in the hypnotic migration.

She wanted to know if they thought. Did they know where they were going before they got there? Did they simply arrive at a place and know that it was home? Maybe they knew where they were going because they lacked any real goal. Was it possible that her need for purpose was actually limiting her movement? She had learned to fly, but sat grounded for fear of choosing the wrong direction.

That night the river emptied her into an ocean. The current abandoned logic and ceased to choose for her.