It is 5pm and I arrive from work
Things are changing, and I have visitors!
Storks are circling, checking their position.
They have returned to their second home.
The storks swoop in, one by one.
They glide in, silently............. gracefully.
I hear the swish of air through feathers.
They disturb the leaves and break the stillness.
They select their place on a branch of choice
Make hissing sounds, which is their voice.
It is dusk, and they have returned from afar.
Winged migrants will settle in pastures new.
I look up to view them on their branches,
They are dotted as singles, and in groups.
Heads drooping down with wings hunched up,
Each looking like a lawyer, pondering a case.
During the night I can hear some movement.
It’s amazing how they keep their place.
As they sleep away till early morning,
They are silhouetted against the moon lit sky.
In the morning glow they become restless.
The dawn is breaking through wispy clouds.
There was some rain again last night.
There is movement in the branches now.
Having filed their flight plans for the day.
They leave their roost in every direction
Some will change course and fly due north.
Where do they go for this days outing?
I see some later, but not near home,
But way out yonder, finding thermals and height.
Soaring, and circling round and round.
Until, as specks in the sky, they escape the eye.
Is this graceful display their form of relaxation?
I wish I could be so free and away from strife.