The End of Summer

[dave holloway]

The birds flock together, something calls.
A warm wind beckons but they all stall,
looking to each other, awaiting the time
the beckoning touch’s everyone’s mind.

A few in the foreground test their wings,
fluttering quickly, anticipation sings
it’s urgent song, be anxious, be ready.
Wise ones wait, alert and steady.

Then in the blink of a eye.
A compulsion triggers all to fly.

Then the roar of a thousand wings hits the air.
A sight to behold, we can only stare
as a formation develops high in the sky
reminding us of something
in the minds eye.

So it shall be in the day it’s revealed
but for right now, it’s all but concealed.
A shutter is felt, a rumbling is heard.
A fleeting recognition, something in it’s word.
Something stuck deep, deep in thought.
Something that’s remembered
but remembered not,
and like the birds we await the time
the thought’s remembered in everyone’s mind.
Then it’s revealed, the roar begins
but this time the signs
all point to the end.