I am making daily offerings to the crows again, several raw almonds placed on the same railing where I left food for them years ago, gratitude for their protection. I fear they have been waiting all these days, but I never showed up. I admit I wasn’t showing up for myself either. So, truce? Crows are smart, they say. Patient. When I emerged again, palms full, one watched as if on duty, lowering his head, one black sparkly eye on mine. I am tending to us again, I said. Small flutter of silken wings. This morning they woke me up, caw cacophony out my window. Even though I was gone, hiding for so many seasons, they did not give up on me. They did not forget.
Discussion about this post
No posts