The Birds

I walked through the knee deep snow beside the rail yard today, stopping to listen to the screech and clank of boxes and breaks slam into place while the skittish birds overhead shot through blue sky like a school of minnows in shallow water. They rose and fell like silver sequins in the winter sunlight, white feather bellies glinting in the southern turns.
I got lost and jumped a fence. Threw my bag over the top, hitched my toe on a link and dropped down into a graveyard. I cut through the dead toward the tree lined streets, but couldn't help stopping at one grave to mutter, Oh my God, and then continue on my way. There is only so much impending death one girl can absorb.
I found my way back. Presumably, the birds are still sparkling down.