By Laura Booth.
Photograph by George Eade.
As banders, huddled in our little dens
We watch and whisper, urging, always, 'Patience! –
You cannot hurry these in their migrations.'
We hush and wait for them, our ancient cousins
With whom we once shared languages, religions
Since lost; but not yet lost are the sensations:
Blood, and keratin, vocalizations
Sharper than the air, with less forgiveness.
So when they break from their autumnal flight
To stoop into the circle of our arms,
I pause and wonder – do they feel alone?
Hewn as they are of history and bone?
The flat embrace of sky, so cold and bright
Would leave me chilled, but here I find them warm.
Laura Booth is an aspiring science writer and urban ecologist working toward her undergraduate degree in environmental biology at Columbia University. She believes in Rumi, tomatoes straight off the vine, and the perfection of an empty page. Find her @LauraSBooth or get in touch at firstname.lastname@example.org.