A flock of white birds fly close as one against the dusty blue sky.
Dusk
The Ocean

Twenty Minutes
Alike and Alive
United
. . .
Without a leader we move as one across the sea and land. Without collision we shape and ripple the dusk-blue darkening sky. Close to the wind, far from thought. Between the crack of chance and luck we flow, and for our moment's lost, with one another's beat, we bring the best of who we are, as one our moving wing.
