Wings

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.

October 10

Now constantly there is the sound,

quieter than rain,

of the leaves falling.

Under their loosening bright

gold, the sycamore limbs

beach whiter.

Now the only flowers

are beeweed and aster, spray

of their white and lavender

over the brown leaves.

The calling of a crow sounds

loud---a landmark---now

that the life of summer falls

silent, and the nights grow.

Wendell Berry

New Collected Poems, Counterpoint, 2012, page 63. 

(Kindle Edition)

Two three-line stanzas, then two four-line stanzas, simple and effective. 

Sleep well as the nights grow