These Pains of glass in the breakfast nook are old. the kind people ” pay good good money for”. this glass bends the light to make things appear as they are not. all shapes devoid of familiarity. obtuse angles if angles at all. jumbled shapes of a flock of birds spotting the yard with a writhing grey flurry that tricks the eye into an almost dizzying strain. i wonder if we appear the same with our flock through these windows. loading the vans with things we’ll take with us, or on the lawn with good byes to those forging ahead as the great explorers of the west. covering every inch of the paved roads of this country, and moving on to more that are gravel, dust and dirt. all the while humming an Ode To The Flock. the flock that we fly with.