Orchestral birds

 How do they do it?

I step outside to high pitch

frenzy of piercing beaks

tearing through the air,

a shrieking, a symphonic screech

high in the tree, the birds

every leaf is a black silhouette

in the old oak

then, on queue, abrupt

spooky silence

and flight

a dancing murmur,

a perfect vision of sound

now split by the ferocious wind

still trying to stay in time with each other

but the orchestra is 

blown away

each note

trying to hang on

in separate sets

still, quaking silence