The shiver of winter still strums the air.
Amid the grains of rotting snow,
a solitary crow
clutches a storm-torn branch
and breaks off a twig in his beak.
The crow lifts and flaps his blue black wings
rising with this perfect piece
to the top of the tallest fir.
The air vibrates with welcome
caws of raucous joy,
as one is greeted by the other.
They are so high. I wonder.
Can they see
spring from there?
Words and photo are copyright Carol Steel.