I had only come to see the birds fly south. The way they look when they are in the V formation is majestic against the gray sky, it was well known that their migration was worth documentation. Off the polluted, pot-hole filled, tar patched, smoke choked highway, down a winding road, and a turn to the left was a simple field. Naturally burden with thigh high grasses, and dried sunflowers-still reminiscent of Summer’s last sunrise,
I chose to set my tripod up on the first small hill I came to. Looking out over the top I had been sitting in the misty field for about an hour. In my pocket were two turkey and cheese sandwiches, and a leather jacket that must have been about thirty years old. It now possessed rough patches and faded elbows, my camera was mounted on my tripod waiting for the moment when the birds flew south.

It wasn’t until dusk that I saw them. Hair loose, rolling down a dip in the earth, they were laughing. I can distinctly remember her laugh, not an expected girlish giggle, but a full blown explosion of sound. It had broken my sacred peace; but in no way was I disturbed. Instead the boy stumbled down the hill behind her, taunting her with childish jokes that seemed too simple to be funny. No birds had yet flown across the bleak October sky. I looked back at the two teenagers. Now dancing to a song that could be only heard inside their still developing brains, I began to remember the time when I was young. Only pictures could prove that I was once lively, free, and full of spark just like the young adults before me. They continued their little swinging dance, feet parallel, arms wrapped around each other. She wore a gray sweater and a brown skirt. Her socks were pulled up to her knees, and her shoes lay fifteen feet away from their makeshift dance-floor. In a burst of teenage lust, their lips met each other mid step. I looked away, suddenly embarrassed to have witnesses such a private moment. One that I myself had shared many times with my wife, but the privacy this kiss seemed to demand made me turn my focus back to my project. No birds were yet to be seen flying across the now light blue cloud spotted sky. My camera was shutting off, and it was then when I realized that the pine trees that surrounded the field were casting long autumn shadows on us, the funny dance had now transformed into a writing creature immersed the tall dry grass. I looked down at my two turkey sandwiches; now gray and soggy, the mayonnaise had soaked through the bread. I picked one up and savored it. Small bite by bite it slowly went down my red lane, I picked up the second and consumed it in a greedy way.

Perhaps the birds had already flown, and I was a week too late. Just like the birds, and the sandwiches, it seemed as if my life had gone; in a rapid instant it made me feel as if I had accomplished nothing in life; I couldn’t even capture a photo of bird migration. The kids fell to the dirt in a heavy plop, and I packed up my camera. Before I left I made sure to leave one of the brown wrappings of my sandwich in the soil. Perhaps as something to remember me by. Leaving the teens behind in the dry vegetation, I put my jacket on, packed up my tripod and camera, and ambled back down the hill to my old woody station wagon, and turned to the right. They never saw me.

I drove down the dirt road and took a look up at the top of my windshield. A faint flapping V could be seen through the tops of the trees. In earnest I followed them, eager for my final shot.