Though some will tell you otherwise, with reasons
ranging from aerodynamic efficiency
to a following of a leader in
order to make it to a certain
destination, there really is nothing
but poetry in this v-formation
of birds in the sky this early evening.
And nothing else to hear but the sound of
my young son sleeping as I watch this winter’s
flight through the windshield in the warmth of the car,
sheltered from the cold, mindful of the brevity
of sleep and so many other things
this smallest of days in a year that
not long ago seemed so far from old age and epochs,
so far from turning gold.
Photograph by Jose Padua