With the sun bright as June,
the land drying but still green,
I’ll launch into the open sky,
find an old crow to hunt with me
and explore the rooftops.

Clouds will ripple in waves of white,
blue warmth open the mountain
to rivers bearing melted snow.
We’ll follow the water,
chase cloud shadows
and I’ll wear black feathers
when crow and I hunt.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

11 Responses

  1. black crow & raven blue – the air is alive, shape shift with you – caw kraa caw

  2. Such a fun poem!!! We live where the crows fly, talk, holler, bully, dive, and altogether… put on quite a show! We love and enjoy them.. and this was fun to read!

  3. Funny thing, Don—this year, for the first time, a crow is visiting my birdbath several times a day to dip bread some neighbor must be setting out. My connection with this clever bird seems almost personal. Now, with the imagery of your poem, I can imagine flying with him over the roof tops and tall trees of Fort Collins, and the feeling and view are breathtaking! Thank you.

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