After a while she looks up and says, "What did you see?"
"There was a whole flock of red-winged blackbirds. They rose up suddenly when we went by."
"Oh."
"I was happy to see them again. They tie things together, thoughts and such. You know?"
She thinks for a while and then, with the trees behind her a deep green, she smiles. She understands a peculiar language which has nothing to do with what you are saying. A daughter.
"Yes," she says. "They’re beautiful."
"Watch for them," I say.
"All right."
From Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert Pirsig (1974, p.9)
