Our Siberian friends

We went outside ,so we kids could flap our fingers at the contrails after jets that came smoothly flowing like water under feet, surprising us behind trees.The birds took no notice nor their trees.

They were not a pilot’s smoking trails and the sound seemed audibly missing like the lagged sounds of the thunder and we would wait for it not to come because there was no fun in the sound when there would be no light streaks.They were the trails of silent sky-jets that stretched like monkey god’s tails.They laid luminous paths and our eyes shone with excitement.

Our finger nails were getting ready for a little white fluff to sky-drop to lodge behind them , tiny pearls that would enter our fingers fluttering at flamingos flying in on yearly holiday from their frozen Siberian back homes.We were disappointed that our Siberian friends had not yet arrived.

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