I'm back from Cordele, drove in tonight with all the other Sunday drivers. Around
Unadilla a flailing mass of birds passed over the car, traveling directly but
inefficiently south. The lead group split in two as if responding to some imminent
threat; the followers then began to climb appearing, from below, to form from
chaos a trident figure in the sky. Its handle looked like the careless scribble
of a number 2 pencil, something one might squiggle in disgust having given a cartoon
elephant a disproportionately small trunk or a hand too few fingers. The cars
went straight underneath, testaments to the determination of a superior species.
For the next 10 miles, I debated the appropriateness of the bird as a symbol of
freedom. Is it really a freedom to have one's primary dimension be so empty? Or
is that emptiness the very essence of freedom? I finally concluded that the term
'freedom' was too arbitrary to fuel a debate. Then I took Ben
out of the Player and put in Radiohead
and continued to drive north.