Rumbling
A system is rumbling in the air and it is causing many people to fear, the clouds are getting dark and the birds are flying around looking for a decent place to call home, they have migrated from the east and make their nest in the West, and hang out in the bushes, parading from tree to tree, this spectacular scene makes my hear leap.
See them dressed in specific colors oh how they make my heart shiver. They are flying with perfume underneath their wings and my spirit is yearning for a passionate song to sing, they make music every time and bring my entire world alive. Shake, shake, shake, chirp, chirp, chirp, the singing and the playful things that they do always make the evening news.
Just listen to that exotic rhythm and match it to the movement in your feet and you will get a formidable beat, my temperature is rising and the tempo is growing and the birds in the town has won the crown.
I have always admire the birds when they fly above the clouds, but something’s looked out of place when the birds on the lot start mingling with another race; they infiltrate my inner world dropping poop and garbage all over the floor and flying in and out of the corridor with decade of aged old barriers erected at the altar.
A multitude of birds are flying to the north to dwell in the cool places; the south is getting hot as summer creeps slowly up on my back, the snow birds have returned and the summer birds are migrating to another world. They are moving in droves, some of them without clean clothes, carrying the bare essentials underneath their wings and a bottle of wine to make the
nightingale sing the mating period is over and they have just crossed over.
I can feel the heat bubbling underneath my feet and the empty street filled with silent memory of what was once a vigorous town, I can’t bare to see it like this, but this is what is left of it. The last flock has gone south with their young-lings struggling behind them, they trespass at nights and put up a terrible fight, throwing things around and disturbing the way atmospheric air flows.
Listen to the sound yonder; it is getting closer, the sky is clear but a pinnacle of smoke is burning over there. The smell of coffee has exhausted the atmosphere and the odor is spreading everywhere.
A new sound and rhythm have given birth and its melody has invade the town and dug up the earth from underneath the ground, they stand out among the rest when heavens dress it its Sunday best and the missile cruised silently by their sides, and my emotions rumble and my spirit come alive.
Copyright ©
Christine Phillips
|