Blind Vision

It was almost un-American. About 40 of us walked half a mile down a dirt path into an enclosure with small slits on the west, north and east sides.

Our instructions were clear: no talking, no noise of any kind, no light of any kind, no cell phones – smart or otherwise. Just silence as the daylight faded.

As the sun began to sink, turning the sky brilliant gold then raspberry, we began to see them. They were just silhouettes, black against the ebbing light. At first they were just specks.

Then we could hear them. I loved the sound. To me, it sounded like a bird purr or throat rattle, a fluttery, sort of kar-r-r-o-o-o – in varying pitches and volumes. Then they began to glide down onto the Platte River sandbars -- ten, then twenty, then hundreds. Then hundreds upon hundreds more – magnificent against the sunset.

We resisted the urge to applaud.
Awed, we realized that silence was the only appropriate response