Wind song plays amongst the trees, 

accompanying the starling’s waltz,

two by two, they join.

Becoming one,

moulded in motion,

Dusks rosy sun dips as the avian ball,

paints a lullaby in the stilling sky.

Low whirls of mist,

emerging from the ground,

weaving between fence and hedge,

waiting for the dancers,

to fade back into the woods.

Flowing dark greeted now by the owls cry, 

sentinel of the night.

The trees settle in,

shrug off the day, 

and all is done.