2019 Remembering the Crows

Early mornings, bright ice blues as life wakens birds and squirrels scratching for seeds and nuts black crows pound at the tree or wait for cars to drive by crushing the hardest nuts clever crows now winter’s broken their little dance, the nuts are gone and three black crows complain each early morning where they remain on the fence by their now bare tree they’ve learned to wait for me watching the window until I feel their eyes staring at me scratching at the post demanding their walnut tree’s meaty nuts, now in jars the tree has three aging leaves slowly curling dry brown-grey soon to fall but three black crows do not leave the fence until I throw nuts and corn on their rail obtaining quiet acceptance each reaches for a kernal to hold in their long beak with sparkling black eyes staring approval— a quick squawk they disappear into the large pines across the street those same three creatures each morning appear on my fence post near the steamy kitchen window waiting to see if I am still here.