Starlings on a Stave
Every week day
Staring at screens
I take a break,
Searching for natural links
Walking past the telegraph wires
The sound of starlings
In their rows
Little feet clasped
On the musical stave above me
My ears take delight
In their chittering chatter
They are instrumentalists
With no need for a conductor
I raise my head, eyes alight
Stretching my neck
Watching these speckled birds
Twitching and turning to each other
Perched on a network
Although, not tied to technology

Returning after this lunchtime recital
A refreshing interlude
I feel more grounded
Despite looking up in the air
,,,, ,,,,, ,, ,,, ,,,,,,,,,,,, ,, ,, ,,,,




Twenty-four hours go by
Drawn back to these wires
But a crochety crow sits on one line
Having scared off the orchestra -
No lunchtime recital today




The third day
An empty stave
Today’s notes gathered in the tree