The movement of the flock using, as it does, the currents and eddies in the air, reveals what we often forget – the airy environment in which we live and breathe, and which looks like emptiness, is every bit as enveloping an atmosphere as the water in which we swim.  The air is in us and around us, and has life and movement in it, and it also connects us invisibly to everything else in it.  We are not such discrete beings after all – everything is connected to everthing else.
 



Sky by Wislawa Szymborska

The sky is where we should have started.
Window without a sill, without a frame, without a pane.
An opening, wide open with nothing
beyond it.

I don't have to wait for a starry night,
nor crane my neck,
to look at the sky.
I have the sky at my back, close at hand and under my eyelids.
It is the sky that wraps me tight
and lifts me from beneath.

The highest mountains
are no closer than the deepest
valleys to the sky.
No place has any more of it
than any other place.
A cloud is a ruthlessly
crushed by the sky as a grave is.
A mole is as high, sky high
as an owl beating its wings.
Whatever falls into the abyss,
falls from sky into sky.

Friable, fluid, rocky,
flammable, volatile stretches
of sky, specks of sky,
gusts of sky, heaps of sky.
Sky is omnipresent,
even in darkness under the skin.

I eat the sky, I excrete the sky.
I'm a trap in a trap,
an inhabited inhabitant,
en embrace embraced,
a question that answers a question.

Dividing earth and sky
is not the right way
to think about this wholeness.
It only allows one to live
at a more precise address -
were I to be search for
I'd be found much faster.
My distinguishing marks
are rapture and despair.