The gal at the desk was talking about a crow that had adopted a horse

While

The man, cradling an injured crow in his heart,

The actual bird being cared for by the veterinarians in the back,

Tells a tale of mystery and care.

And my heart flies back to my grandfather

And a crow that lived In the rafters of the barn…

Swooping down to sit on his shoulder every morning

While he fed the horses of my childhood.

.

I am engulfed with the stories of possibilities.

And freedom.

And healing.

.

I go to the grocery

And at the top of the lamppost

A familiar voice caws to me.

.

No harbinger of death,

But a call to life!

No song of mourning,

But a caw to awaken each morning

To compassion,

To community,

To love.

.