When swallows gather in groups
it’s called a mummeration.
As one they ripple in waves
turning the sky to ocean
their tiny dark bodies
pointillism.
Fleck of black on blue
morphing into a single rush
of soaring bodies
scooping themselves
into glorious arcs
and spirals.
When they are gone
the sky is empty
and alone.
Clouds litter like styrofoam cups
abandoned
when the crowds leaves
to stumble home.
All is left
is the wait
for seasons to change.
Daily Prompt: Congregate
