There was once a crow that would sit on a branch of an old oak near my bedroom window.
I found it fascinating, because it would only show up after it rained.
I never understood why.
One night, there came a storm and I pulled up a chair and watched the mysterious creature. It just sat there. It's skinny talons wrapped around the frail and feeble branch.
Oh, crow. Why so alone? I thought to myself.
I remember a story my mother once told me after dinner one night. There was once a man who lived in a rickety, worn out house, kind of like the one we live in today. He would always sit on his front porch, waiting.
One cloudy day a woman kissed her husband goodbye before going to work, but there came this ruthless storm and she never returned home.
The man thought he would never again see his beloved wife, but deep down inside he remained hopeful. He waited for her everyday until he died.
Some say he died of old age. Others a broken heart.
That story reminded me of the bird, because it would always sit on the branch alone looking out into the distance.
As if it were waiting on someone.
-SM 2015
