Murder of Crows
The mist rises inches above the water
An angel of silence holds back her tears.
Cypress knees jerk
And the egret slides silently through the mist
The swamp is a sacred place.
Inches of water hold a danger deeper than the depth of life
The primordial mud is deep here
My feet sink in deeper
I lean against an ancient monolith of a water oak, which is,
Standing next to a cypress tree that is older than anything I can fathom
The wood ducks whistle deep in the canopy
And I wait for their majestic colors to flash in the morning light
I am a hunter but I have not come to kill
I am here to take what nature gives
A turtle surfaces near me to catch a breath of air
And then sinks below the brown murky water
He hunts for the dead, the vulture of the swamp
He is hunted as well; a snack for a gator
That may well be circling my feet as well
I care not for I am fearless of these creatures
I am an intruder and I am not on the menu
Carrying a weapon is only a weak means of security
For if they truly wanted me they would take me under
And introduce me to their world
However violent that introduction might be
I would never forget to remember that I am a guest here
Until then I will stand halfway in and halfway out of their world
Mystified by what the swamp as laid at my feet.
A flock of ducks circles my position looking for a place to lite
With one croak an old crow gives my position away
And the flock turns and heads further south
I curse the crow and he looks at me sardonically with one eye
And cries out --- “If needed I’ll bring a murder of crows to keep you honest, old fool. “
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