As predictable as ever,
The evening commute begins,
The vaguest hint of hum.

At first a sole outrider,
Quick to leave the office,
Keen to miss the queue.

The sound of a distant thrum,
Becomes an urgent flutter,
A squabbling squall of sound,
A churning flying mass,
A kaleidoscope of grey,
Remorselessly pushing forwards,
A riotous raucous throng.

As quickly as it started
The thundering flock have gone,
Until tomorrow comes.

Just as the light started to dip, the evening murmuration flew over as the starlings returned to Lee Valley for the night, echoing the human commuters who similarly travel in and out on a daily basis.
(20.09.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash