14 February 2011

The Beating Air

The weather today is strange.
Morning sun was blinding and white,
nothing like the golden glow of dawn we normally have here.
Warm air, high gusting winds.
A steady song on the front porch chimes.
And bird wings everywhere.
It was as if every far-flung crow in the south had come home.

Singles and pairs to start.
Cawing and calling to one another.
But the wind seemed to bring them forth in droves,
hurtling them in from the treetops to the fields and back again.
Greens pines suddenly swarming in shadow.

It was eerie.
Like black magic on a sunny day.
And lovely.
Like life burst back after the dead of winter.

I'm not sure I've ever seen the pines so lively.
Nor heard them so loud.
Rustling needles and cracking branches, calling crows.
The creak of wood and wind.
The searing light of shadows now past.
It was hard to look up and out,
let alone get the exposure right on my camera.

Can you see them all?
Every dark, fuzzy spot a whirling frenzy of feathers.

I think spring must be coming.
With fervor and brimming vehemence this year.


  1. I have always thought birds to be so magical. One of my strongest emotional memories of my youth is of a huge flock of birds flying very close over my head in a mad rush. They seemed to go on forever. I remember my heart beating hard in my chest, as if I had just witnessed something from a dream.

  2. Your words are magic. You should write.