Birds are beginning
To gather,
Lining the wires as
Dusk pulls us into night.
They journey with no map,
Seeking their needs as they go,
Resilient when they go unmet.
First time migrators warily
Take their turn as leaders,
Leading flocks that share
A language of air.
Some of us will follow,
Moving southward with
The retreating daylight,
Falling leaves on our heels.
I think I will stay,
Gathering insights from
The low angled light,
Readying myself for
Next year’s bounty.
Categories: Poetry