Starling Flocks Arriving Overhead One Evening in November

Here, now; a blanket
Of soft wings brushing the sky

Draws evening close by

The absence of sound

Their solidarity speaks

A thousand times loud

Air net. A lattice of

Beak and wing to stop falcons

From feasting on them

In the late lilac

Sky; thin ribbons of birds fly

Above the old thorn

Wagtails and Starlings

Two Territorial Wagtails

Steam from frosty fence

Rises, as tempers flare hot

Wagtails flip the bird

Starlings at Dusk

Starlings spread a quilt

Of sunset gold, pink and blue
Murmuring the moon