Through the Eyes of Birds [Final?]

light sweeps across the hills
in a soft glow of slow burn heat

nature consumed by
smoldering ember reds
powdered ash whites
golden flametip edges
and warm coal blacks

there is perfect stillness

bare branches and brackish water
caught in symbiotic static and stasis

silent bedrock moves at glacial pace
gargantuan and ominous
greater than gods
diffusing into the distance

clouds hang hauntingly above the Manor
wandering into the warm wet air
stoutly surging into the sky
against the gentle suppression of empty ether

the birds are the observers
regal and reserved
of the meaningless motion of Man
amid the frenzied flourishing of fauna

He Stands at Right Angles with the world,
Raising Flattened Hard pine Walls.
He Creates a Floral Formula of Captive marigolds and oleanders.
He Plots His land with Mathematical Precision.
He is Cold, Calculating, and Consuming.

then a quiet flicker of flesh and feathers
and the Clouds no longer belong