Off his feet, a crow takes off, perhaps a little clumsily, frowning with a scoff at the static rocks at the sea-face. Eccentric winds from the bay lift his form with ease; Black, strong, and sly, in the sunny winter sea breeze, sending him off on an elliptical trace.
A lazy wave tumbles in, breaks and ebbs, The wind leaves white messages in curious cirrus-cloud webs... Who reads them this winter afternoon? The ponderous Gulmohur has caught yet another plastic kite; Yet another leaf twirls down, Down an invisible helix in flight to meet his comrades soon.
An obese bumblebee weighs down a proud marigold deposed... And the crow eventually returns, his claws carefully, tightly closed, holding onto nothing from a pointless trip. The static rocks welcome him back. The sea gapes in dull silence. On this lazy afternoon that's been so slack, he clambers on the rocks and gets a grip.