Migration...a strange term and perhaps an even more odd pattern of flight. Imagine having a built in sensor which alerted one to the fact that she should be following an internal compass to an opposing pole. Now fathom having little control over that impulse to react. Would you really postpone an activity, join a group of like-minded individuals, and take off? If you were a migratory animal you would...just like that.
Children tend to have this type of inherent desire but not the compass that guides it. They migrate toward food, sunshine, chaos, laughter, and merriment...they're migratory creatures of a different sense. As adults, I think that sometimes our sensors solicit adjustment. We need to tune in a bit more to the internal and phase out some of the required surrounding us. My chicks just respond to their radar. They see the sun and immediately ask to venture into the great outdoors. I see it and query on the need for sunscreen, hats, and coats which turns into an debate (in my head) about how much I should finish before we venture out. The chicks? They're just ready to go. Am I? The question gnaws at me: Why do I put such emphasis on the need to get things done instead of flying the coop every so often? All this inhibition has me feeling a bit stir-crazy. After much internal debate I've made a most important decision, one that might change the course of flight around here. The next time those sweet baby-blues turn expectantly toward me with the recognized question mirrored in the dual set, I'm in. Whole-heartedly, both feet hitting the ground with a bounce, hat being slapped upon the head in. Let's migrate chicks, the sensor's been repaired.