1 The forest is the orchestra consisted of the birds, playing one enchanting symphony after another.
2 Blackbird with jet-black plumage and beak of polished amber, hopping through longer shaggy grass of spring, tugging at worms.
3 The birds were silhouettes against the orange-kissed heavens. Only an hour ago they would have been pale against a blue sky, but the twilight was advancing and soon they would be lost in blackness, roosting with head tucked under wing until dawn.
4 Short stubby beak, bright eyes like black onyx beads, alert, dainty head tilting this way and that, milk chocolate plumage, plump chest, shiny black wrinkled feet, a saggy fold of skin at the ankle, three thin toes forward and one back clasp the branch with sharp black talons, hopping, flitting from tree to tree.
5 The eagle dominates the sky as is his birthright, spreading wings as broad as they sky. His head is white in the sunlight, as bright as the clouds he glides between.
6 The birds flew through that ever developing canvas of the dawn, as if their wings were fine quills, drawing such buoyant hues. Those wings in that sky became the colors of my dreams and whenever I needed a memory to lift me off the ground, they were there.
7 Their white bodies soared across the skies. The silver linings of the clouds were being sliced by vast, beautiful wings. Their figures stood prominent in the bright blue above, with only small pockets of clouds to hide them.