They stood at the end of the tobacco row, just beyond where the north end of the field met the woods. They stood in the shadows, perfectly still, watching only her. They reminded her of deer: thin ... [+]
I watch the Starlings,
With their tiny stick legs and bare feet that cling to roof gutters
Their persistent pecking at the stubborn ground,
Their hungry hunting
Their tweeting, chirping, flapping,
Dropping feathers like black sprinkles on the grass.
The Starlings are an odd family
I’m glad I’m moving.
With their tiny stick legs and bare feet that cling to roof gutters
Their persistent pecking at the stubborn ground,
Their hungry hunting
Their tweeting, chirping, flapping,
Dropping feathers like black sprinkles on the grass.
The Starlings are an odd family
I’m glad I’m moving.