Storks and Suicide

There is a stork's nest outside my window. I pray that my prayers will fall into the nest and fertilize some sort of seed. As an afterthought I hope that it will not bring my students any American babies, even that storks of all nationalities will outlaw the creation and delivery of American babies alltogether. The neighbors say the storks are suicidal or cannibalistic. At least that is how I translate their swooping hands. Maybe they are just trying to replicate the gliding flight of the immortal white birds, but i know something sinister hides beneath their fingernails. Here in the warm wet dusk everything glimmers, yet its a sad shine, somethng so beautiful and fleeting, I know nothing will endure for long. The winter here is a sterile season, all things brushed with a grey polish. All certainity is certainly uncertain.