
‘V’ is for fall,
living arrows on a southward spiral,
pointing out the obvious –
Autumn arrives with strings attached.
Snows and North Gales
are on the end of that umbilical cord,
so ‘V’ is for fall;
fowlish flesh
make haste for calmer climes,
honking farewell
to natal stars,
leaving cracked eggshells
as a deposit
guaranteeing spring.
*
I live beneath an incredible migratory path – this time of year, the skies are resonant with honks and wings of untold number. Their annual pilgrimage marks the seasons for the mortals who toil beneath their flight path.
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