Tow-away zone

A mess on the ground that looks like a witch’s wig, but it’s a crow. A dead crow. I’m superstitious enough it’s a sign, and sure enough…cops around the corner with a tow truck about to mount a Range Rover. The sounds disturb the early morning scene on my walk to the lake. The beeping and cranking of the hydraulics as it lowers and lifts. The uncaring look of the driver and cops, they’ve all done this before. The mechanics of law and order, of signs.

The crows are relentless, and you can see why they call it a murder when they amass, it has the same effect on the ears. The fury and injustice goes on and on. They fill the sky.

The light is at an angle now when the sun sets it throws patterns of leaves against the house, a shadow play cut from paper, cast against a lamp. The theater of summer from a distance, the end of the year play. The metal rooster sits on an arrow pointing north. I wonder if someone will gather the dead crow in a bag. If it will be there tomorrow on my walk to the lake still. The Range Rover surely won’t.



Categories: death, writing

Tags: , , , ,

8 replies

  1. some things stay, some things go, but they all change

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Old Crow Bad Medicine Show. Throw some salt on your doorstep & walk to some running water.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Nice close.
    We’ve had a smooshed squirrel disintegrating on the sidewalk in front of the seniors’ home the past month or so. It’s not even being driven over by cars but it’s becoming increasingly flat and part of the concrete. We just step over it every day on our walk. Not even the dog cares. For a dead squirrel, it’s been fairly innocuous (innoxious?).

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Uh-oh, bad juju Bill. Salt, yes, boil fresh rosemary as well

    Liked by 1 person

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