Wintering Birds

For me, it's the road, long winding roads where there aren't many cars that bring out the melancholy joy within. My car passes flattened and husked corn fields where a lone tractor is plowing, composting for the next season. A large patch of white is in the tractor's wake, tumbling and fluttering, and I take it for litter at first glance. Those in front of the tractor take flight, exploding from vague shapes to aerodynamic chaos! The birds wheel, twist, corkscrew to land behind the tractor. There must be hundreds of them. I almost get into an accident rubbernecking the spectacle. It's cold, but not so cold. It's their layover, to knows where. I wish them adieu and lots of luck. The road calls me and I turn a bend.

The End

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