i was a girl who believed that hundreds of little birds flocked to the mission on the same day each year. by magic.
it was a miracle i saw with my own eyes.
the mission bells heralded their arrival with deafening discordant clangs. i stood there holding on to my dad's belt loop with one hand, covering one ear with the other. i wished for a third to shield my eyes from the blinding white california sun as we watched the birds swarm in. one after another, they floated through the arches and settled in tiny mud nests under the eaves. the friar said a blessing. we bought tacos from the little mexican push-cart whose tiny brass bells were kinder with their song.
