All is still

The sun

Sinks heavy

Beneath the pink-rimmed world

The shadows grow long

And dark

And quiet.

Then suddenly a cacophony of white shapes shrieking squawking clamouring cackling burst into the air in a cloud of movement a shout against the growing dark like beacons shining they fight and flap and fly through the sunset-streaked sky

And then they settle

Into heavy branches

They rest

In the long shadows

And all is still.