The flock of white birds

I came up to get my computer, and saw them out the window, a flock of white birds. Before a couple of months ago, I have never seen a flock of white birds before. (I'm sure I must have on TV). I never know if/when I will see them, so each time is surprising. It feels mysterious. They intrigue me. I like to watch them, as they fly against the sky, they disappear, and reappear, they are striking in front of the blue mountains. So many of them, gathered together in a field. Where did they come from? Where are they going? I know they are just white geese ( I assume so), nothing out of the ordinary about them, and in places where they are commonly seen my enthusiasm would seem daft, but there is something magical in them for me. They don't seem to fly in the same patterns as Candian geese, they undulate and wave, wings glittering, reflecting sunlight, as they appear and disappear, as if fading in and out of existence, crossing back in forth between two worlds, one of solid matter, one of spirit. When the different flocks land together it seems at least a hundred, field of white birds, ethereal from this distance. I know part of the appeal is the white birds in my story, so of course they would seem to mean more to me (though the birds in the story certainly are not geese), but they would have captivated me anyway. As I stood watching them fly in the distance, I suddenly saw white wings above me, a smaller flock had just flown over my head. All those white wings.