Birds of a feather

From the curve of the bridge

I looked away,

and then in front of me

soundless bursts of wind

dove onto the surface

of the river

and fanned out in woven ripples

like flocks of air in reflected sky.

Here and there they swirled

while the gulls waiting

in the rock-strewn shallows

paid them no heed.

And where have all the leaves gone?

Only a few float beneath my feet.

If only the sun

weren’t still so warm on my back,

or the careless clouds

drifting through my view of the river

above and also below, the

wind plays as if tomorrow

were just another day.

Perhaps I’ll wait a little longer,

heedless of the weather,

just in case this wind flies south for the winter.