Wheeling

Round and round your gliding goes

In the slanting light of the afternoon.

Above the roads’ right-angled rows

You fly with wings outstretched, in tune

With every current of flowing air

To spin in spirals drawn with care.

What unseen tether leads you on,

Wheeling round and round, until

A few light flaps mean you are gone

To find some other space to fill

With feathered grace where the weather’s fair

To write your course which angels share?

I wrote this last weekend as I was sitting on my balcony, watching birds glide in slow circles. It's something I see often, and the gracefulness of the motion always makes me stop and take notice. I feel pretty fortunate to be able to see their aerial dance from such a good vantage point on the top floor of my building - often they are flying at, or even just below, eye level.