‘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.