There will be no photographs.
Picking the chip bag
out of the ground squirrel’s
the bubble wrap from between the
coyote sign and the styrofoam packing material,
a great cacophony erupts to my back.
Seventeen crows, pitching in the
cold wind, alight on the
branches of a tree.
I continue my efforts, but think aloud,
remembering the name of such a collection as this,
“A murder of crows, isn’t it?”
Never mind the superstitions surrounding
I approach, gradually,
and notice that the black birds
are reaching again and again into the arms
of the three evergreen trees.
Aha…also, one magpie.
As though he senses something I do not,
the dog charges at the tree and his
barking increases the dramatic movement
in the moment.
The crows take flight,
these and the ones I had not seen,
high contrast and pattern against the blue sky!
I stand perfectly still,
in awe of what happens next.
From it’s hidden place in the
arms of one evergreen tree,
a huge owl, stretches huge wings out and up,
the crows close behind.
Diving at the majestic bird
the fighting mass of black crows and
cross the pond,
disappearing into the
old wood forest on the other side.
I take some time before I move along.