The starlings gathered at dusk, like a congregation assembling for evening prayer. From all directions they came, starting in groups of five or six, slowly amassing into a great swarm that danced and flickered like a great creature all of its own.
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The Funeral
Nin woke to an odd sound. At first, as he was roused awake, he thought the deafening noise was some kind of oncoming storm or hurricane. But as his senses came flooding back to him, he recognized the sound to be the beating of wings—hundreds, perhaps thousand of them!
Continue readingLong into the Night
Nin sat on the beach and looked out over the bay and contemplated his life. He stared into the water, as if he expected to see some vision or portent in the depths. The light from the moon, reflected on the waves, danced before him and stung his swollen eyes.
He barely perceived the tiny puff of wind as a bluebird alighted on the rock beside him.
Continue readingMoonsong
Nin sat in the thicket without much to do, and without much on his mind. He was just about ready to turn in for an early evening when he heard the song of a nightingale pierce through the darkening night:
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Crosstown Gate 