Magic Leaves

The starlings continue to gather in their vast murmurations, swirling and soaring and settling over telephone wires and roofs and trees, where they mutter and whistle and whisper to one another.

The sight, and sound, of them is so striking that it once again reminded me of this beautiful and evocative poem by Anca Vlasopolos, who kindly allowed me to re-“print” it here:

Starlings

You would think, pieces of soot, burnt
pages of journals, banned books, suddenly
come to life, rising in this wild March wind
like ghosts screeching in a forbidden language.
Twilight breaks up into these glimpses
of deepest night. Then, just as sudden,
obeying a call to order none of us can hear
they cluster, leaves on macabre trees
of an illustrated gothic, magic leaves
that sing in the coming dark.

{A note: I do write all text and take all pictures unless otherwise specified. Please do not reproduce either without my permission.}