The Migration

Chuck considered the migration pattern of birds. He looked up toward the empty sky, perched between the months that had past since the autumnal departure and the weeks that remained before spring’s return. After careful deliberation, Chuck concluded that birds, on the whole, must accomplish a great deal more than he on any given day.

He looked up through the brown brick facades and steely twists of winter branches, anticipating the day when his winged friends made their return. “Will I see the terns this year?” Chuck wondered as he waited at the bus stop. “If not the terns, at least let me notice the geese.”

Lulled to his standard tempo of complacency by the din of the morning traffic, Chuck reviewed his list of accomplishments for the day, meanwhile dismissing the lint from his pocket. The list mostly consisted of his oral hygiene routine, but he was happy to concede that he did in fact let the dog out before leaving for work. It was a short list, so he included “de-linted pockets” as an addendum.

He looked up the road, catching sight of the bus that was due to arrive three minutes prior. Stepping on the bus, he began his own daily migration, amid his own flock of stationary birds.