Night Wings

Darkness gathers in a raucous cloud of wings to swell in trees, a seething mass of movement like a maggot ball hung high in a canopy until all subsides into a folded quiet. Air then becomes the domain of the silent whose wings beat in whispers and are cloaked in stealth. My mind paints a picture of an owl swooping low with talons drawn to hook an unwary mouse. Raptors are no threat to me. I fear those other wings let loose by man that my eyes cannot see, but slice the air on the edge of hearing, can fly clean through the center of thought and decapitate a feeling. These wings kill or leave wounds that weep and never heal.