
Many years ago, I went to small circus in Milan. The highlight of the first half was a dancing Hippopotamus. At his trainer's behest, he lifted one leg and then another as the lights swirled and the band played. It wasn't exactly a waltz, and it wasn't especially graceful, but there it was; a hippopotamus was dancing in a parking lot in Milan.
The finale of the second half consisted of the following: a mature woman dressed in a hoop skirt fashioned of wire netting walked from behind the band stand to the center of the ring. The spotlight followed her. When she reached the center of the ring, she raised her arms, and, from every pole supporting the tent, cages of doves were released. They all flew to her, each taking a position on the wire netting so as to form a gown of living birds. The audience remained seated until the last bird found its perch, and then rose to give a standing ovation. The woman walked out of the ring and disappeared behind a curtain. The audience filtered out, a few noticing a single dove flying in confused circles overhead. Unseen, the woman, now clad in a yellow robe, reentered the ring. She held up her hand, and the lone dove came to her. Holding the bird close to her throat, she disappeared behind the curtain again.
Moments of epipheny occur at unexpected times and in unexpected places.