rush-hour platform
each starling descends
with a ball of sunshine

eyes blink
as horse propelled sand
becomes part of the wind

the city’s square
incoming starlings darken
the darkening sky

the day fading—swathes
of daffodils hold onto
the last of the light

an icy wind—above
the town’s clamour
the cawing of crows

on the ground
a dusting of mahonia petals...
in the air its scent

first light—
a grey squirrel lands
on the bird table