Understanding Crinkles

On its surface a crimp and cockle of a purling tide have rucked an impression on a stone. We are here to find Eagles but the sky is too low and the wind too high. You show the image on the stone as if this were the very thing we had been looking for. I look at it squint eyed: could be a crow You throw the stone into Lake Huron, won’t hold my hand won’t speak again until I admit to the endless possibilities of crinkles, tides and wind to produce magical eagles.