PGJ

Birds in these fall skies, waving about like a sea creature, moving in invisible lines about its equally unseen body, the birds no more than specks which shrink and swell in size as they make their rounds, as they expose either a narrow profile from the side or a broader view from above, a continuous, pulsating flow of black moving about some center hidden from the eye, the avian array contracting and expanding in rhythm to something which necessarily escapes the onlooker, the unknowable and uncanny movements of water transposed in the heavens.

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