The sultry cicadas sound the alarm,

Warning with sweet nodding crescendos.

Robins, ravens, and warblers leave their base-

The forked pecan tree across the street-

And head into enemy territory.

They fly in sharp formation: low, quick, and quiet over the tops of buildings

Leaving behind only slightest rustle, a summer breeze.

The other guys are already waiting,

Flocking around the crown of the white oak

They squawk in agitated anticipation.

They know what is coming.

It circles around their heads as they circle the forked branches.

Just as sun dips behind the horizon

The display of aerial acrobatics unfolds above.

Paths cross every which way across the sky.

They chase and flit from the cover of branches to open air.

The beating of wings thrums against my endearing eardrums

The Red Barron robin chases the kamikaze mockingbird.

Swifts and swallows dive and dip on the wing,

Careening against the faded blue backdrop sky tinged with pink.

They settle after night has silenced all lights,

Laughing into the wee hours of the morning.