Today's cracked corn brought them winging up
from their flotilla that glides under the willow.
I often try to capture them in flight, but it is tricky!
When I hang out outdoors, I often think of Wendell Berry. Here is one of his outdoor poems.
Now constantly there is the sound,
quieter than rain,
of the leaves falling.
Under their loosening bright
gold, the sycamore limbs
Now the only flowers
are beeweed and aster, spray
of their white and lavender
over the brown leaves.
The calling of a crow sounds
that the life of summer falls
silent, and the nights grow.
New Collected Poems, Counterpoint, 2012, page 63.
Two three-line stanzas, then two four-line stanzas, simple and effective.
Sleep well as the nights grow