The door opens to a flutter of wings
that swoop in the dark before my eyes,
unseen, yet a whisper of wind foretells.
Wings up to nothing but mischief, no doubt,
like a foal that kicks up its heels in an open field
joyous at the very suggestion of life.
Wings that follow the wind to where it leads
then capture moonlit flights to nowhere
and laugh at the twinkling stars above.
Wings that spell voracious hunger to search
for tiny unsuspecting creatures seeking light
and warmth through the cool, summer night.
Wings squeezed into a dime-size sliver of space
to spend the morning hours in sleep while
others begin the motion of daily routine.
Wings that share my house and come out
to play whilst I dream of rainbows and rivers,
invisible wings that disappear for another day.
–Victoria Emmons, copyright 2015
La Vue de rue Sleidan 