Evening birds are poised in
a moment of stillness, their
alert little heads tilted to
listen for the supersonic,
whistling call that always
comes to them from somewhere
beyond the diminishing sunset.

My dark thoughts cannot catch
them - the quick patterns of
their flight into the twilight,
bits of black on clouded blue,
are reminding me again of abstract
art, a seemingly random and
disjointed arrangement that
somehow achieves a constantly
changing and perfect balance.

09/24/2008