Starlings in Epiphany Snow
They come at dusk, squawking in dark ominous circles, a constant swirl of swooping activity that demands distracted attention until they settle into branches of beauty to cling like dark knots clogging sapped trees. They are gathering like Advent darkness in a world gone mad, waiting . . . stealthily waiting like bombers for orders to Iraq. Something unknown startles and they fly, a retreating dark cloud in protest-screech against grey skies leaving . . . leaving bare intricate trees wrapped up in spring dreams dusted with brilliant snow gleaming in the silent light of a single streetlamp, an urban Christ candle illumining the Way for snowflakes dancing in delight of momentary peace. © 2003 Tess Lockhart. All rights reserved. |