rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,
rejectomorph
flying_blind

Winter in Flight

Afternoon was murder after murder as crows gathered for reasons they failed to disclose. They sat like small gargoyles, glaring from pine branches, dropping now and then, cawing loudly, to drive away birds of other species who dared to trespass on the lawns. A hundred or more passed within a few minutes, some pausing to announce their presence, others winging north, writing fluid and ominous patterns over the gray sky. Now and then, a brightening of the air would bring some faint shadow to the ground as a thinner cloud among the roiling mass would almost unveil the hidden sun, but mostly there was only the relentless gloom filled with flapping black wings and swirls of fine mist. Such moody pleasures the failing winter provides!

Once the crows had gone, and their boasts and threats faded, the placid hours of lengthening evening passed. The other birds returned and filled the fading world with their gentler chirps and trills, until they too fell silent, settling into bushes for the night with a final fluttering of wings. The intermittent mist gave way to sprinkling rain, and then a steady shower which sent rills to sing accompaniment to the chorus of wakened frogs, filling the darkness with a cheerful sound. Everything now flows toward spring.
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