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.

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Daily Prompt: Congregate