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.
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