The Crow
The crow:
Her old tired body falls to the sturdy bench as she inhales with difficulty. Faintly her heart beats, slowly her blood circulates.
“With age I die by the day.”
Her ancient voice rings.
Through the ravenous night a single crow lands at her feet.
Her wise eyes smile as she gazes at the dark bird before her.
“Crow has no sense of time, lives in the void having the ability of past, present, and future at the same time.
Have you come for me then, my keeper of the souls?
Or is this a trick you have conjured with wild coyote?”
Silently the crow flies onto her lap and gazes deeply into her sickly round eyes. Inside the bleak of his pupil the women sees a light.
No trick or illusion, just the purity of afterlife.
Her wrinkled hands caress his silken feathers as their eyes mirror each other.
Carefully the crow absorbs the old Indians soul and takes flight, cawing in the dead still of the night.
Symbol of creation, healing and protection the crow is the keeper of the souls
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