THREE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-THREE BIRDS

Dusk's choreography

This is not the lake near us! And I can’t remember the name of the photographer on Unsplash…. sorry!

Good morning,

My husband and I sat in the garden the other evening at dusk, watching the birds swoop over the nearby lake. The activity was mesmerising; there were literally hundreds of birds dancing for mosquitoes and other insects before they all suddenly returned to the woods to settle in for the night. The movement, the light, the beauty pulled me in, and I tried to convey the scene in this poem. But I guess you had to be there... 


THREE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-THREE BIRDS: Dusk's Choreography

The breeze summons them at dusk.
“Fresh mosquitoes,” it whispers,
Blowing tiny frills over the lake’s surface.
“Get them while they’re juicy!”

And all at once, three hundred and thirty-three birds -
Finches and blackbirds, swallows and swifts -
Descend in graceful swoops
From the surrounding woodland.
Darting, delighted
Beaks primed, eyes beady,
Eager to feast on today’s bounty.
Intrepid trapezists now joined by bats,
Everyone dives and climbs,
Loops and spins,
Twirls and twists
In an elegant feeding frenzy.

Then, when the breeze bids them good night,
They glide back to green oaks, silver birches,
Willows and corks,
Where they fluff their feathers like tiny duvets
And perch like Buddhas in miniature shrines.

Sleepy dragonflies settle in the reeds,
A pair of Moorhens motorboat from shore to shore,
Frothing filigree behind them.
Fish leap and land in silver hoops
On the lake surface
Gleaming in the fading light like a Persian carpet.



As always, thank you for reading.

With love,

Francesca

Illicit Croissants At Dawn, a collection of poems
Just Like A Movie, a romantic comedy