Taking wing. A song that swings like a sail singing in gusty winds that portend a windy afternoon. The barrier right at one edge where birds escape as through through a quickly closing stoney slab. An endless stream of birds and then a single lonely last. Either lost or defiant. A flag flapping thatβs a picture, unchanged, across centuries. Might as well be pirates or admirals under that flag. But thereβs a contemporary bird instead; definitely not endangered. The opposite, in fact. Spreading inevitably. Maybe carrying some final blow. Quietly. Secretly. Simply. Taken wing.