Sky-writing

There are a miilion or so starlings swirling around my back yard: resting in the trees for a moment or two, then taking off in a giant cloud. I catch them out of the corner of my eye, and the pattern they make seems to be forming words... almost, not quite... and then it breaks up and they form a swirl, a wave, a breeze of birds.

And every so often, they sit on the electric lines like music.

The street below is stained red: tree-berry poop!