The Flock of Blackbirds


They were not uniform, these loud birds of the afternoon.

There were red-wings mixed in with the all black, and

Their chatter, their crying out filled the afternoon

As the flock swayed uneasily in the leafless trees.

Tossed by wind, excited by their mutual noise,

They went from trees to brown ground, and

Then back to the swaying leafless trees.


Trees and birds swaying in the winter wind,

In the March sunshine--

A blessing us all.


This was a good scene and moment to treasure,  

To savor, to keep--

A source of warmth for the coming night

Of bitter cold.