November 7th, 2015


autumnal hours

The sky is a mass of cloud, a layer of dark gray and dark ivory, with the sunlight not even brushing the bottom of the cloud from the setting sun. But across the street, past the row of houses, over the tree tops, flies a flock of small birds. Wheeling this way and that, their wings flapping. And as they turn at the right angle, the sunlight glances through their translucent wings. Bright as sunlight from polished metal, or glass -- or even as if the wings glowed in their own right.
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