The Birds

An orange light, glows.
Gentle sun.
Birds sweep and flow, curl,
wings wide at the new warm rays.

A cyan sky, cold and fresh.
Dew on grass as it shivers awake.
My hands flex, crisping white linen.

The machines begin to breathe.
The world is becoming warmer,
tuning itself to the tone of the machines.
The air is growing to suit them.
Technology begets technology.

Machines are better at storing and transmitting information than biology.
If there is one constant, it is connection, love.
We love our machines, and one day they will love us, and love each other. We will be their birds.

How did the birds spend last night?