Then Birdsong Comes as the Cloud's Kite Strings
--- Creative Mood Writing on Birds ---
Descriptionari.com
Mood writing is evocative of the great classical writers, the masters of yesteryear. In The Mood Book's pages we absorb their craft via creative prose examples. Our feathered friends have a special place in our hearts, for how often do we dream of riding the updrafts as they do with graceful ease? How often does the song of birds soothe the soul aches and life's wrongs? And so, should our avian kin be in a merry or miserable mood, then surely we feel it too.
Written by Angela Abraham in 2024
Aeronauts of Sky's Blessed Ease Love the Sky as a Blue Trapeze
--- Bird Feathers Aren't Creative Writing Quills, They Tweeted That  ---
 In Creative Song the Birds Sky-Danced, Sky-Writing, Sky-Bathing - A Joyous Mood!
Example One:
Starling feathers in the sky, as if dipped in earthen ink, wrote their tale in aviated calligraphy. They sang in Heaven’s key, high above the milling crowds: so free, so merry, so blithe. That day they were my heart-scribes, writing the very essence of my soul, the worth of each mortal beat within my chest. How I treasure the simple memories of that simple day. How I treasure the emotions that bade erstwhile doubts adieu. How I treasure the old me who was lost, yet is now found. In the gentle winds of spring, in the expanse of one breath, my heart was reborn a starling; with my soles upon a quilt of green, as they graced the blue, my wings opened wide.
Example Two:
Oh darling feathered aeronauts, salve to every soul scratch and scar, do challenge your bonny range. For you sky-dance from high to higher, from lofty altitude to loftier still, and I am rendered in happiest awe. How my dreaming eye traces your air-path, the trail you skip upon with ease, writing your angelic script. Such is the attitude of the avian kind. The world, busy in its business may miss the enormity of your feats, but daily I see. I do. I witness. I love. So upon divine outstretched wings, glide and ride the free updrafts. Take your ease when you may and realise full well how you’re adored.Â
Birds Flock as Storm Spun Tears
Example Three:
Oh, wallow, wallow tiny swallow, wallow in the crying hedgerow. See not the glower of the storm told large in low bruised cloud. See not how the light doth struggle, struggle to ignite the garden hues to the murmur of a whisper, a whisper mother nature intended sung full-loud. Let your wings protect your head and heart, as heaven would have them do. Yes! Yes! Darling bird, I beseech you, I bid you hide and thrive until this tempest is through. Then in the light, me with a skip, you with a flutter, we’ll while away the hours in blossom imbued companionship.Â
Example Four:
The night was a demon, glowering a full-featured scowl, setting the poor robin a-quiver. Darkness drew a cloak of icy-shadow around its avian heart, a heart that took to a sprint assuredly as if a shot were fired. A tempest wind of directionless angst stirred rain-droplets into a mist, a mean-spun mist that soaked puffed feathers through. Around his nested sticks, his place of sanctuary, a trolling taunt did whine. Those hours, between sun fall and rise, were grim, were morose, were raw. They were a suffuse depression beyond my window pane. Yet for me, for the robin, little did we hear, the storm was fast losing its identity and the morrow would be bonny-bright.Â
