High noon

She woke up and got out of bed. It was not early, there would be no stunning sunrise to watch at this time of the day. The one advantage might be that the early birds got all the worms, or at least she hoped they had.

There was a cacophonous barrage of sounds coming from the north and looking up she saw a great flock of Canadian geese climb up into a huge V, undulating and soaring as they rode the wind.

That same wind rustled the leaves of the trees above her. Flickering gold, shimmering and whispering, reminding her that winter was coming -- but not here yet. Nature had not finished painting this block. The giant maple blazed like a crimson ball highlighting all the shades of greens and browns and yellows surrounding it.

And then suddenly she found herself surrounded by shadows. Small fluttering shadows swooping and drawing her into their acrobatics. Dizzying, kaleidoscopic feelings of freedom and surreal-ness flooding through her. An experience she had never had in all her sixty odd years, one that could only happen at high noon if a band of black birds decided to go for a swirl.