Migration

The giant silver bird yawns.
I, and hundreds of others,
Transported in its gullet;
A belly full of dreams.

Expectant eyes wide
To new surroundings.
All six senses sensing,
The foreign.

I have been here but a day,
Drifting like Eve on the first morn
And yet,
It could have been six months.

Falls cool, grey reproach;
Yellow foliage
Crunching under foot,
Have Disappeared.

Replaced instead,
By endless breezy blue;
A canopy of frilly, cherry blush;
And petal strewn pathways.

The birds that flew north for winter
Now present themselves right here.
The journey having transformed them though.
Is this where they all go?

All in a single afternoon.

© Strauss
21/3/2007