Whoosh of Wings
The winter air, cold, dense
Penetrating to the bones
Conveys with rising crescendo
A symphonic skein of geese
Trumpeting beyond
Barren trees, shivering, huddled still.
Whirling overhead in v-formation
I hear the whoosh of wings
Cutting air, propelling sleek
Down-covered craft
To an uncertain destination.
The honking dies off, fades
Crystalline silence returns
Its rightful place restored
As if never disturbed
Clove twain by anserine arms
Fleeting sunward.
Original poetry by Mike Nettles, West Columbia, SC December 2011
photos by Goosesaver/facebook