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