Sharp Sight
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.
7 comments:
I hope they can. g
beautiful.. michelle
oh that's lovely! I'm amazed by the persistance of the birds, who resolutely are behiaving as though it's spring even though it's so unseasonally cold
Hello g.,
I hope so too. Some days I despair of spring ever arriving.
Thank you Michelle. I hope every day you feel more well and are gaining strength.
Hi Juliet,
I think I heard a robin singing this morning. Perhaps there is hope after all that spring will come. The birds must know. I am so tired of winter and the chilly air.
Hi Carol. I am catching up on reading your posts and reminded of how slowly spring has come to us this year. I love the poem, especially the first line. Crows are so smart and remind us of so many things. I think they deserve to be written about! Jane
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