still in their baby fuzz, congregate,
their shadows aligned to the sun.
This is how murmuration begins, like that.
Soon they will take to the sky and dance on the wing,
following an inner music only they can hear
as they pulse and weave at dusk
while we listen to the thrumming of feathers
beating out a percussion in the air.
Nothing prepares you for the sound,
it’s something you have to witness at least once,
to see those unpredictable sentinels queue up
for a rave in the sky, as dressing a prayer
for the wind.
2/10/24 Molly Fisk PaD
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