Freewrite Exercise (gussied up a bit)

When I see that starlings thing. Man it freaks me out. I'm always put in mind of iron filings. Something I remember when I was a kid. Shifting the little iron metal bits with a magnetic pen and making shapes on a man's face that exhibits boggle eyes, a snubbed nose and more skin than the drumming section of a brass band. Maybe it was the Magnetic Man who came fully unrealised with bald head and face.

The idea was that with a little skill and perhaps not much ingenuity one could uproariously give him a full head of hair and an impressive beard. Puberty and a hair transplant in a sitting. A magnetic pen that could imitate a cosmetic hair punch. Predictable, I suppose so. But the starlings I watched moving the other day - swirling and dropping like a million pieces of lead showered out of the back of a passing helicopter, then picked up on the wind, conjoined and swirled into shapes the likes of which I haven't seen since I was given a box of Spirograph for Christmas.

Spirograph might be a more accurate memory here rather than magnetic bald man with no beard. Perhaps the spectacle could best be described as part Magnetic Man part Spirograph. Up and down then folding in on itself. Side to side then dropping like shotgun pellets fired in the air by the Devil himself at the soaring like Angles late for their return to Heaven and to God. And expecting God to be standing at the gates checking them in saying you're late you're late and not really acknowledging the irony of the word and the location working somewhat symbiotically. And not knowing the shower of danger they may or may not have flown through.