Sky Dancing
by Annie Jenkin

Dusk on a winter's day
is cold and clear,
the sun's orb glows
painting clouds a pale pink.

The starlings rise as one
passing barren trees
and softly rolling green hills.
Their noise, a loud rustle
of a thousand pairs of wings.

The aerial display begins
a synchronised ballet
drawing pictures in the sky.
A dark cloak that bends and stretches,
sways in undulating waves.

Merging, twisting and swarming,
whirl and turn swiftly, glide,
dart around, their hypnotic wheeling,
curves, ballooning out and divide.
Their speed, a magical energy
now spent, they return to roost.

I stand there stunned, spellbound,
listening to the music
thrumming through my heart,
and to the standing ovations from all
who, like me, will be back for more.



 

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