Starlings In View

I looked up as I was walking to the bus stop. A flock of starlings struggled to fly overhead. They speak in code. Loving nothing and yet being in harmony perfectly. They are such a sign that evil is winding its own pocket watch. They see the reality of wind differently. I love then separately, thus I do not create a flock of bats instead. They have a sense of Hitchcock about their movement. I grab a coterie of 5 and cloak them infinitely with a wool afghan freshly woven from St. Andrews, Scotland. They can see me now, and feel my energy. Flutter flutter flutter by. Find the top of the sky where you are not seen actually.