Flying high, wing span impressive, organized as a vee, their path intercepting, the work to get to this stage of the journey, the last hundred miles, not by chance.

Instinct and intuition alone is not enough to manage any of the abrupt delays in a trek north, gravity, fluid dynamics, and magnetism in control.

Gone now from overhead, their trumpeting persisting in a blue chilled sky, a river thaws below, Poppy circling as a toy bone is thrown repeatedly, his energy perpetual.

Blue blue eyes bright, watching watching the sky above, curiously resolving, knowing knowing that time stands still when darkness appears, wide eyed he let’s go into the pause of time.

R.I.P. Pappa