“Mr. Crow” by Mary Tetreault

MR. CROW

Mary Tetreault

My first thought was, I am sitting outside with somebody’s pet crow! I, lowly, on the step – his presence oddly important to me. He had a few things to think about, but none of them involved me. He, in the close tree, was chatting with another of his kind, way down back in the woods. He let me step closer to take his picture, all glistening in his black gentleman’s coat, against a spring sky of little-boy blue. Turning for his digital photo shoot, his strong, pointed beak looked shorter and wider than I’d first expected. The silhouette – perfection!

Among the bare branches, Mr. Crow squawked to the other bird, seeming to say he’d be home late for super but was safe and close at wing. I thought he was just taking in the lovely warmth and debating whether to fly off to see his long-distance lady love or stay around home near his old mom, who’d want to settle in by early evening.

He was not afraid that I’d enter his space horizontally – no visible wings. And he might have known I wouldn’t be coming vertically. I hadn’t climbed a tree in ten decades! Two bodies and souls so different – each wondering what to do with the rest of the day. Walk, fly, near, far, now, later, alone or in company? I blinked; he flew – cawing back something I didn’t quite catch.