The Reasons of the Birds

{spontaneous and simple;

recorded and read

the next morning

in memory

of a

great and small

memory

of the night before

the birds and friends

added to the beauty and mystery

of life.

Thank you,

 - C}

silhouettes of five hundred and forty seven crows
outlined against the flat dark gray,
perched in tableau
on the tips of winter trees,
resting on the fingertips of branches... in the
middle of the city.

she came to fetch me from the
street - eagre to
share the
stillness of the crows...

standing to
marvel, from the glow of hospital parking lot lights -
shivering with each attempt to take a picture; eyes
searching our screens,
squinting to see the
scene on the other
side of the lens; failing to capture a
moment while
missing the
minutes and the chance to
marvel the
mystery of the crows.

sitting, staring,
searching through all the reasons of the birds... perhaps a
meeting of the
minds; perhaps they know
something of the end of the world - keeping
secrets from us; perhaps their beauty hovers over as a cloud of death, in
solemn
silence for their view; perhaps they are watching over the
maple
syrup taps; perhaps it is a
singles
meeting for crows; perhaps...

she said,
"you
know,
you don't have to
know the
why..."

see and
simply be -
no pictures
nor reason captured in this
moment, framed and
standing for itself -
sit,
spirit free to
wonder at, and rest
with the birds - in awe -
without the
why...
of all the reasons
of the birds.

***

I came to
fetch her
from the
street - eagre to
share the
stillness of the crows...

"oh,
that happens all
the
time,"
she said.