The starlings’ chatter
sounds through the morning calm in mundane sirens announcing intentions to dig
and pluck fruit of the earth. Oh so visible and loud in their morphing
forms, twisting wings and ruffled plumes settling in unison about the dinosaur kale
bed, blind to the pleasantries embossed in the reptilian stalks, eyes trained
only on grub trails and one track thoughts.
E.A. O'Connell
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