The crow and the storm water pond

The cats got into a bird’s nest, and now it’s a horror show outside our front door. The newborns plucked off one by one, still alive, Dawn had to finish them off with the shovel. Made us think about eating meat, chicken, and if we should, still.

The possum looks like it’s sleeping with its face on the yellow traffic stripes in the middle of the road.

The crow sits on the chain link fence looking across the pond, watching for movement, calling.

Blackberry vines are blooming fruit and pushing out of the crack in the sidewalk. The vines look like octopus tentacles, frozen in mid-air.

My walk waits for me now, the morning round-up of phantasmagoria and nature’s short stories.

About pinklightsabre

William Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
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