More than likely, you won’t see them. Little black specks of wing.

Three times, maybe four, because once it was a big hug of shadow passing above.

I turned again to see; but, I missed that time.

I’d like to be able to describe it. The moment I was in their presence.

Four hawks dancing against the bluebird colored sky, the signifance of their circling not in vain.

We’re gathering soon, some family, not all.

I’ll look towards heaven and I’ll see them, I know.

Red bird on a branch or a feather at my feet,

I’d smile at a penny found on heads.

A presence indescribable.

Words fall short.

I can’t conjure up the image,  four birds dancing over me

Poetic peace.