She's Eve (a walking poem)Shrouded in black,
she hops after
the dark seeds
encased in apple flesh.
She stands and caws
one foot gripping
apple skin.
Her beak pokes,
bring up
a sweet offering.
Awkward effort
to retrieve
the pebbles
at the core.
Black tear drops
she has never shed.
by Mario Milosevic
Even inside, through the windows I hear them from trees across the road, sometimes across two roads. Lately I've heard mostly one refrain, "caw-caw-caw" but right now as I write, they repeat many, many more caws. I don't think they count but it must be a code, five caws is a different message than the usual three. I suspect the rhythm too has meaning, how quickly one follows the other, maybe even in terms of nano-seconds. In every country I've ever traveled to I've seen and heard them. Yes, this morning they are saying more than usual, I hear different tones of voice right now, different rhythm, different patterns. Morning is a busy time for crows.
Enough. You have your crows too and I presume you sometimes listen.
I was delighted yesterday to hear from Ronni Barrett of Time Goes By, click my sidebar. On Ronni's left hand sidebar in a box you will see "The Elder Story Telling Place" -- click it and you will find a short story I sent in. It's not up yet [which is to say 7:50 am EST, but will be when Ronni gets to her blog today. I think it will be there all week but if not, it will be on the sidebar of that page. The name is "Intruder". I crave readers! This is my caw-caw-caw to you to come see.
