Winter Evening Walk by Jennifer Froehle Hoarse trilling on high heralds the flying vee. Onward they come, fleet in full formation, ragged-edged outliers, collapsing and rebuilding the ingrained pattern, weak drafting off strong. Wings beat in unison, Incising cuneiform wedges across smudged gray clouds, Skywriting news of shortening days and dwindling light, Foretelling us the ending of the year. In the sharp air, I freeze, Lift eyes to track their path As they sweep past, So purposeful, their call to flight embedded in their souls. For one brief moment, I know I could go, Join the airborne caravan trekking southwest toward the light, Follow sky roads mapped upon our cells to their end, And bask in warmer climes till springtime turns us home. I would lift into the air, Fight this tug of earth with all my might Until, aloft, I found my place behind a fellow traveler, settled in And I would fly. Honks and cries rece
Flying Island is the Online Literary Journal of the Indiana Writers Center, accepting submissions from Midwest residents and those with significant ties to the Midwest.