Kingdom of the Raven

The black bird rests in the air gliding over wasteland parking lot. His wings flap once, twice he opens his mouth to cry out in the cold frigid air. Glossy dark feathers shimmer in the white sunlight of winter. His looming shadow passes swiftly over ground a contrast to sparkling iridescent snow. Landing atop a lamp post haughtily surveying the scene: His kingdom is littered with remnants of human lunch and cluttered by boxy cars; the domain of the raven. Unblinking eyes stare out into the woods. His realm safe he takes wing again, aloft in air. The regal shape of bird flies off in crisp sky.