We have known each other for a long time. In the garden of the small house, some distance from here, she used to perch in the old tree, just in the corner, and was able to follow my progress in the morning, making coffee, in the kitchen. Often the Crow and I looked at each other, appreciating each other’s company, and the morning peace.
When we moved here she gave me a recommendation for her jackdaw cousins (large birds with streaks of white on their bellies), who inhabit this neighbourhood, and, to tell the truth, most of the city’s parks and streets.
I think she has a beneficial influence on us, and I have concluded she’s in fact a guardian angel. Her speech is always to the point, sober, if not melodious. I trust her judgement, and whenever she’s unhappy, so am I.
In the little garden we had hilarious moments, for example when she, and her sisters, kept a watch on the local heron… For she’s a good fighter, she looks after her partner and family, and don’t bother her neighbours.
I wish all humans were like her.
Photo: the Crow and the Heron © Honoré Dupuis, 2012
Inspired by Sue Vincent’s Thursday Photo Prompt
I know he will come, one day, or, better, one beautiful evening, a calm, unhurried flight punctuated, at dusk, by the black birds’ song, and, even, if I am lucky a nightingale’s.
They know me, they know I admire them, and they keep looking down at that fragile, elderly silhouette, on my walks. Time is soon, of that I have no doubt, for I have seen the signs. So, one of them, I am sure, will be the Messenger.
When time comes I will welcome the Messenger, if not the message. After all, I had a long life.
We look at the sky: so soft is blue on blue on this Easter day, how beautiful your beloved face in the morning light…
A crow bomb-dives a sitting heron, ignoring her dignified look: the heron chooses flight.
Now we walk along the well troden path, patches of frost lingering in the early sunshine, you know that I am happy with the change of clock time…
As we cross the meadow we look at the horses, more crows flying by, my lens fixed on the oak tree.
You look at me and in your eyes the fire burns with the energy of this new Spring.