It was only the occasional flutter
of wings and the soft cooing
that gave them away.
They crowned the clocktower,
looking every bit a part of the architecture,
and I wished I had their job:
fly and coo, find food and flutter in the rain,
exist because they are
with no questions asked.
Surely, if I climbed up to them
they would take flight,
not knowing my intention
is just to sit and rest,
rest in the knowledge that I am
and that fluttering in the rain washes everything clean.
Sarah Stoltzfus Allen 