Great Mystery

He was early and Lucia a splendid sun. The sky was blue, radiating. I stopped in the bridge of the prey and, when showing itself, a surprised gull raised the flight. I contemplated the landscape: it was a perfect day. In this place the river was high and mighty and, past the stumbling block of the prey, continued its way towards the fertile valley. I listened with attention and I perceived the thousand sounds of the nature. The whisper of the water between stones, the humming of a bumblebee, chasquido of a branch that part to the passage of a rabbit small sounds that form the immensity of silence.

Something that is had lost in our society. I feel like lucky person and I let myself take by the peace sensation. Unexpectedly, a noise removes to me from my absorption. They seem the barks of a pack of dogs. I watch towards the thickness but I do not see anything. Nevertheless, the row grows and grows per moments.

I recognize that sound, I watch towards the sky and I contemplate an immense flock of storks. They go towards the East and they draw enormous you shoot with an arrow in the sky. In a point, the flock turns on itself and gives the return. It is as if, suddenly, all realized of which they have mistaken the course and they discussed heatedly which is the correct one. One would say that point of the sky is a mysterious crossroads that only the birds can see. And more birds continue arriving more. The sky fills of them. The row that forms all together ones giving returned is deafening. They are hundreds, thousands of birds. Some it seems that already they have been decided and they continue his way, but others return as if they hoped to the most left behind. The birds that follow ahead organize again. Strongest they mark the rate and they cut the air with his bodies and the others reserve forces flying in the wake of which it precedes to them, until the moment arrives and they stand out to him. The image is beautiful. To the short while, very slowly, their voices are gone out and the storks become tiny points in the sky. I cannot avoid to think about how it will be from now on his way; in all the shortages through which they will happen in this long trip of his lives. I wait for minutes more and the last groups they are happening. They are small groups of weaker birds. Its flight is different; it is a made an effort, solitary, sad flight. A survival flight. You know, friend bicycle? Just as to them, also I have left much to still cross to understand a little all the great mystery of the life.