Birds

Will we have a shot
or have we already neglected many for a few?
I ask, as I place my eye on the tripod
Let it keep a note.

You do the same.
Hours pass by

and now we are a low explosion
suddenly blown out of a bush
I watch the souls of some leaves flutter away
getting seperated from us,
coming towards us,
passing us; disappearing.

I and you, my friend
We both just hugged as our wives,
on a roof somewhere, miles away,
as the birds flew over.

Did they feel it?
The air; the known air
May be they did
We can’t tell

Here, the hours pass slowly.

The python making its pass

on the viewfinder.

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