In brittle morning light
gang-gang cockatoos gather.
Woebegone,
their chatter creaks with the wind
moving through broken branches.
Crests flare.
Tiny fires tilted to the sky.
Scalloped grey buffs flutter,
blending with alpine gum where they nest.
They shift, restless.
Remembering that flight
once meant more than escape.
They launch together
toward nothing in particular,
vulnerable against too-fast clouds
moving across the sky.
And soon they’re gone,
their shadows lingering
between what’s lost
and what remains.
By Sarah © 2025
Sammi Scribbles, Weekend Writing Prompt: woebegone (77 words*)
*includes title
By Sarah 
