Full Moon: Waxwing Dream

They circled the open well lazily, no discernible pattern–about twenty of them–five feet off the ground. You could feel that something was about to happen.

Then they shot up in a linear swarm and turned suddenly at the leader’s chosen zenith to arc straight-down, still  in formation, toward the well and its unseen nadir. I watched them disappear into its depthless darkness at top speed and wondered at their inexplicable, soundless, frenzied ends. Not a single bird emerged again.

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