Flown

A flock of a dozen or so fairly large birds perched in the trees in my back yard and yards round about. I don't know what kind they were, as they were so high up and my eyesight is not what it once was. They had dark feathers and pale breasts with dark patches on them, and they were silent but for the fluttering of wings as, now and then, one would move from one branch to another or one tree to another. They were easily visible in the bare oaks, but those that flew into the pines became obscure.

They seemed to be enjoying the late afternoon sun, as those I could see all faced it most of the time. Their presence lent an odd sense of anticipation to the landscape, as though some formal event in which they were to take part was about to begin. But nothing happened. They remained for awhile, then one by one flew away, leaving me with the feeling that something was undone, that though the day would end it would remain somehow incomplete. I returned indoors, but the afternoon's sudden emptiness stayed in my mind. I feel it now, in the air arched over my roof. I wonder if nightfall will drive it away?


( Sunday Verse )