There is the traffic of eyes, many darting like taxis around idle faces. There is the traffic of autumn leaves, though few venture downtown. There is the traffic of pigeons, not exactly v-formation, but perfect little crumb-crazy machines, bold and bobbing.

And there is the traffic of wings, whirling at the mind's corners, making the most jaded, faded of us believe in ourselves.

of stories this month > Get unlimited stories
You've read  of  free articles. Subscribe to continue.

Unlimited digital access $11/month.

Get unlimited Monitor journalism.