Internet is on this morning and autumn is settling in.
Early this morning they came soaring slow and stately, searching the ploughed field for prey, a flock of red kites. Maybe forty birds, flying low, some gliding, some dropping with ployed wings into a furrow, rising again, continuing the sweep. One perched on the woodpecker’s dead tree. The tree trembled.
Night agitation ceases
owls and foxes sleep
clear starry night covers with misty damp
and the silent beating
of broad wings.