Flocked

Their density intense,

Thousands of heads fall and rise,

Dip and turn.

One moves, the others follow;

The result is an endless rippling.

Black and white blankets

The entire loch;

An Escher painting come alive.

Their optical illusion

Acquires depth,

And governs minds.

When an unknown

Disturbs the flock,

They rise, together,

Their voices a clamour.

My senses are, quite simply,

Overloaded.

 

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