outside my window a scattered maze unfurls, full of yellow leaves against raindark branches. the stubborn alley trees twist into lowhanging branches in the backyard, which in turn meld with the vines which cover the neighbors' roofs and the fence which pretends to separate this piece of land from the rest of the world. the flock of blackbirds came swooping into view, a spinning, glistening mass of brancusian grace. they swirled through the trees like ink, moving from branch to limb to roof to telephone wire, never pausing for more than the breifest of moments. the air quivered with their wings and their plaintive calls.

but the flurry stopped, suspended with all the weight of a held breath, and then burst away in one fluid movement, all of them, gone.