Blowing with the falling leaves
a sudden squall of blue and great
and long tailed tits all intermingled
sailed the brisk December breeze.
I wondered why an avian flock
so diverse flowed for several minutes,
all streaming in the same direction,
through the winter wasted trees.
Nothing apparently pursuing
so, intent on destination,
perhaps encouraging each other
they can go wherever they please.
But they're flying to who knows where?
Still too warm to really care
escaping the mid-winter cold
before the fields and gardens freeze.
Perhaps they're spurred by casual stories
heard from chiff chaff or some warblers
of places where the sun's still warm
and life is lived with greater ease.
Certainly they're heading south
surfing on the chill north wind,
tumbling through the straggled branches
of my garden's apple trees.
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