gorged ovenbird The flickers in the nest could feel doom gathering—a constellation they’d never seen moving over the horizon. The night sky fell to earth, winged and shining, with a starling voice that mimicked the dawn. The ones in the eggs were eaten, slick and seasoned by their own albumen. And when their mother flew home, orange tail flashing, her carefully hewn cavity was hollow and silent. Her scream sent the murmuration reeling, the clouds obscured by a blood fueled ballet. And I heard the music of satiation and despair that hums under everything and bowed my head to the brutally beautiful day. 260531 what's it to you? who go blather from