overhead cloud

birds were overhead; no, not like birds as in the hitchcock movie, quite a different kind. Hundreds were overhead, black birds they were, and then scatteredly abound about the trees' branches, bare and tinged with powdered light snow. The birds were like songs and each small song rests here and there in this number and that number of uncounted spots about the court whose majesty for the moment has been muted, its silence lightened and shadowed at once by the flight and choreographed dancing that spread' and settled, scattered and conformed. They swirl, these thousands of birds, about the majestic court, following the whims and dreams of travelers who have taken lodging, some minutes away, some thousands of miles gone. The court is quiet and peaceful by the lightening showers of snowflakes the night and the day on, where the temperature contemplates for itself the diverse light by the sun's paths, yet the hour remains unknown under the colorless diffusion of atmosphere. The birds are now in chorus, silently they flap their wings by their own meaning creates and decides their flight along and about, soon to the hanging trees and willows leaning out from the walls of shales, sedimentary forms, the trickling water and ice below.

a photo on the web link