Crow's Caw

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Crow's Caw

This crisp morning, after collecting our waste, 
And opening the front door to the great, wide world;

Cawing Crow sang out just overhead, perched on the wire.

She cried out to the East. She cried out to the West.

And then she turned her full gaze upon my face.

We stared awhile.

I began to drink in the present. The bright blue sky, a wisp of a white cloud,

The filtered light between the crow’s caw and I.

And then she dipped off to the West in a rush.

And I? I went about the morning’s work.

Of writing what I had seen.

Jenny Baxley Lee