Warblers

Feathered wings that flit and flutter,

Follow sharp and melodic tunes.

A matriarch will lead the small

As through the emeralds they fly.

Come some cool and thickened night,

Silvered clouds clung tight together.

I stepped quick-footed out,

Craving glimpses of the warblers.

The air was cut with premonition

As in a quarter it would pour.

Warnings chirped across vast oaks,

Urges to hunker into roosts.

I floated over meadow grasses

To reach the familiar, oaken edge.

Cupped a hand to listen close

For flitting wings and trills.

Warblers perked at snapping twigs,

Wondered at a peculiar scene.

Quietly they twittered to one another,

Cautious sounds curled under boughs.

My mouth corners twitched wide,

Eased fresh airs into my lungs.

Peace had met me at long last,

Alone with the fog and warblers.

Author's Note

thoughts?