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From inside the air looks soft
And the ground wet
As trees dance and leaves fly.
Two small birds flutter by,
From ground to tree,
From tree to roof
And out of sight,
Hopefully out of the rain.
Or maybe not.
Silly birds.
Now there are more;
Between five and ten.
Going nowhere in particular,
Flitting from leaf to tree,
To the wet ground, to the eaves.
It looks like quite a challenge,
Surfing the winds and dodging rain.
The trees¹ leaves flutter as madly as the birds,
In the grip of wild gusts.
That just got wilder.
Some birds cling tightly to the stronger branches;
One makes a wobbly flight to join the others
Safe under the eaves.
The wind slows,
But leaves still dance and birds still flutter gaily.
A black dog runs by, nose to the ground,
Oblivious to the potential playthings
Darting around above its head.
The rain ceases falling
As the winds ebb and flow,
Making a three-dimensional surfscape
For the tiny chirping artists
Of speed and sound.
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