Today, as I was sitting at my desk, chanting yoga sutras in Sanskrit on the phone with my teacher in San Francisco, I was looking out the window at small birds flying by periodically.
No, not birds, but cicadas. Large enough to be mistaken for birds. Flying with a sense of purpose, just like a bird. A wing span of signifcant breadth and a body shaped like a small torpedo. Zooming from left to right across my view.
As if chanting Sanskrit long-distance wasn't odd enough.
(By the way, thanks to Joan for giving a title to these posts.)
Postcript: a frightening moment as a flying object just peered in the window. Relief: it was just a moth.