Winter Wings

The sun was breaking through the remnants of the soft, buoyant and wispy clouds, to reveal that a beautifully crisp and clear day was on its way. The air was sharp with a faint hint of frost but with a promise of late autumnal warmth.

Outside of the town down by the river, the water was flowing smooth and calm, rippling and eddying around a dusky, undulating mass of movement and life sitting atop it. A resting point for sustenance, well over a hundred gently honking geese sat bobbing, waiting on the water: a dark gaggle of sleekly feathered birds floating and drifting aimlessly … until at some unseen signal to the human eye, half their number rose in flight as one.

With a squawking discourse they rose on the breeze, silhouetted against the morning sky. By shifting the angle of their wings they transformed briefly from black shadows, to show the white of their breast, then back to black as they turned direction again; a swarm of dark moving in formation and pouring forth across the sky.

This manoeuvre accomplished, the second group rose in a flurry of wings to take to the air, performing the same synergy of movement as the first company, swiftly weaving and turning in a tight body with exquisite grace. Long skeins of black unfurl brilliantly against the sky, moving wider and higher in a fluid sweep through the open space.

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