Just before last sun
Three thousand crows roar when you
Come home late again.
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I like to stand outside in the evening, just before the air turns cooler, and wait for the crows. They don't always fly right over us, but their voices are beautiful as they head home in groups, checking where everyone is. With each group of birds landing, a roar comes up from the trees a mile or so away. We've counted three thousand or so some nights.
What is it like to get there last?
YOU ARE READING
BIRDSONG
PoetryShort poems and a wandering mind. Life and love in the twinkle of a bird's eye. "Evening light fits the cove rock, a mouthful of gold. Cormorant bathes in amber, deeply still..." #29 non-fiction, #38 poetry. #5 haiku! These are in lots of differ...
