Sunday Whirl #67
Dinner for Four
The crest of the mountains
Dig deep into the canapy of clouds
Like lace
Layered over a clear blue sky
Fly through the air
Circle
Channeling death…or near death
There is no attack
No scores to be settled
Each falling from the air
Taking part in the feast
It is orderly as if by tradition
No frenzy
Some would say…
They are wayward
They pass the ball on the court
Dressed to the “nines”
A robust game
All is sublime
Their life though strange
A rough purification
Note: The beginning is the scene I saw on my way to town, and four turkey vultures circling the tennis court, and I wondered…who or what are they circling? And then I thought about how noble they are, just doing their job.
annellannell 