...it's not dark yet, but it's gettin' there...
I blogged about starlings once before. I guess it's time to do it again.
If you love birds like I do, check out Joelle Biele's poetry.
To a Group of Starlings
All day you’ve chased the nuthatch, the titmouse,
the purple finches in the trees, and now
you strut down the street like overgrown boys,
raccoon coats hiding your matchstick legs,
the sidewalk your grand runway, and you’re
boys on newspaper boxes, little drummers
playing buckets and pails, shoe-shine men calling,
hustlers, shiny watches, the old shell game.
Bird of midnight sheen, of oil and ink,
of trashcans in the alley, you’re
my hard-times bird, my hand’s shadow.
You swarm over the roofs like thought
before it falls, you shoot from the furnace
with the coming rain, dirty stars, faraway flames.