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A Flap of Crows
The bare branches were shaking,
twigs rattled like ill-fitting teeth.
I thought:
'any moment now
the coal black lumpiness of them
will break a bough,
and all tumble down or up,
creating sky-slides of avian tumult'.
They jousted at each other,
clattering their sharp quilled feathers
like angry Black Knights.
The very air shook as they bounced,
up and down
imitating hooligans on a drunken spree -
rowdy 'caws' assaulting all ears.
Then,
in a sudden spray of alarmed confusion
they scattered, wheeling away,
in every direction.
From behind a thick-glass window,
someone must have muttered:
Shoo!
Copyright ©
Eric Ashford
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