[portable] | Enjambre

It begins as a hum on the edge of hearing, a vibration that lives not in the ear but in the sternum. A low, thrumming question mark. Then the first scout arrives, a speck of black against the white of the afternoon sky. Then another. Then a dozen. The air thickens.

Enjambre.

Then, as if a switch has been thrown, the hum changes pitch. It rises. The beard on the branch shivers, loosens, and explodes back into a cloud. The enjambre lifts, a torn piece of shadow peeling away from the world. It drifts over the fence, past the neighbor’s chimney, and dissolves into the haze above the treeline. enjambre