Dallas in February, depressing in a truly urban fashion, traffic slowed to a crawl by a persistent two day old drizzle. Everything is wet. I’m late for a job I daily dread. Sitting in traffic, hated habit, out my car window I can see a huge mass of birds infesting bushes, trees and drooping power lines. They make the concrete and glass look pale and sick. In a commuter’s daze, blank eyed, consciousness condensed to driving, I’m fascinated by their numbers, content to think about anything that does not involve my progress or my destination, I wonder how so many survive. The birds, in a twisting cloud of black, lift from their wet urban perches almost as one. My commuter eyes track their movement. In detail they have no organization, pure chaos, every bird moving independently, but in mass they are a fluid cloud, like the exhale of some thick tobacco filled lung. I watched them go, watched them dwindle out of sight, before hunting for a way into the right lane.