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With Feathered Marvels

The black birds rose. The black birds settled. They were uniform in colour and structure. The sky, they touched so smoothly seemed a large canvas and my dil asked for more. What more could the sky contain? it always is incomplete except for the starry night on the amavasysa. Couldn’t gauge the speed of the breeze in the sky if at all there was one. It is not the air that keeps them hanging. The talent to glide lies in the birds and not in the breeze. It was not a twilight sky. No hues, no melodrama of the clouds. It was an azure sky and the colour spread evenly over my head at a distance quite far off. When they settled in the evening, the tree top seemed inadequate to hold large numbers touching them. The settling process had a grace, for the evening was spent enough to make the air around dark. The moss was soft, the enveloping grass spectral. The spread of the green grass, the lonely tree, a perfect balance on earth against an imperfect sky. The birds rose. The birds settled.My emotions rose as they settled. My emotions settled as they rose. A breadth of water gleamed beyond the shimmering meadow. my breadth stayed still and I ceased to emote.

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