Bend an ear while I spin you some yarn, of a plumed migration.
A migration akin to the battalions of ten-thousand buffalo in ways of raw clout, but one far more sinuous in spirit. This migrating parade of a trillion feathers is a cunning streak of dashing hue. Their fast metaphysical beaks find and crunch the beetles in our brains. These birds excavate the dream-thoughts of humankind. To a very strange, immaterial diet these birds do adhere, withdrawing human aspirations the way a hook and line exhume fat trout. [i have a new book reaching the stages of finalization, keep yer eyez peeled for it]
