Perched upon a weather worn post, he watches.
The field, once a pasture, has become a nest of bowing grasses.
Long shadows flee the setting sun.
Orange light reflects off onyx eyes of the watcher.
The silhouette of birds equal in number to the blades below.
The sky is darkened with their number, as they fold and bloom as one.
Voices rise like the din of an untrained choir.
Claws tighten on rough wood, the watcher leans with desire.
Air throws the salty tang of departure.
The watcher staves the urge to join, seeing his fellows caught up in the dance.
The promise of joy is given, yet the watcher continues to stand.
Then the flock comes apart in the middle,
as the falcon dives for land.
About the Author
Eden Nightingale is a Kootenay local currently taking Creative writing through Selkirk. She is passionate about art and can usually be found spending time with her rescue dove while writing or painting.
